


High Frequency

by TanniK



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Explicit Language, F/M, Gore, Gun Violence, Madness, Mental Coercion, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2020-05-12 06:46:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanniK/pseuds/TanniK
Summary: Dance with a devil and your feet will catch fire to such a degree, you'll burn to ash with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone read Moeder from the past year, I scrapped the fic due to inconsistency. I had the timeline screwed up and there were other issues outside of writing. I'm still beyond grateful for the comments and kudos I received; I hope this story will still intrigue you. It's drastically different, but I've tried to rehash ideas from Moeder. I am open to criticism and theories. My best friend, agrimwriter, helps me beta read when she has the time, but if there is a hole somewhere please point it out so I can work with it.
> 
> :Face-claims:
> 
> Matilda Lutz --> Remedy Day  
> Féodor Atkine --> Beau Sevigny (Bo seven-yay)  
> Dima Dionesov --> Slate

                              

 

 

**Johannesburg, Africa  Late 2014**

 

Loud chatter flooded from all directions. Languages mixed, people laughed, hiccuped and hollered. The city was alive with noise and lights. Horns blared in traffic. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, radiating with the loud bustle of nightlife. The air was hot and humid and Remedy could feel the sweat beading at the back of her neck. She wiped it with her hand and adjusted her fraying hair in its bun. The closer they got to the club, the more crowded it became, and the more reckless. Even at their distance, they heard bottles smash and a fight break out in front of Die Senuwee. Slate was in front and he turned sharp on his heel to go down a narrow alleyway; she followed with Jace watching their backs, searching around quickly to make sure no one was paying too close attention.

They squeezed along the concrete walls into a wider, quieter alleyway with stray people minding their own business, but still casting glances. Her and her co-workers were not dressed for a night out in the club or for anything, really. It was more of a grab-what-you-can and go situation. She was sure it wasn’t just their appearance, but what she carried. Remedy tucked the silver case closer to her body and tried to hide it better between her and Slate’s coat. When they arrived at the back entrance of Die Senuwee, she noticed Jace slowing back to check the surroundings. He was trying to plan an escape route just in case.

Not even a day ago, she had successfully managed to secure a job interview in South Korea. The date was set, she just needed to pack her bags and give Sevigny her notice, but Slate showed up at her hotel room with an ongoing conference call from the boss. He sounded worn and couldn’t make the drop. He needed them both to fill in for him. It was inconvenient timing for a deadline that was just barely skimming its hours.

There were only a few men in front of the staircase leading down into the dance floor. Some sat on plastic crates playing cards and dice on a flimsy folding table. There were bottles by their feet and a few discarded smoking packs and dropped fags. One man bobbed his head to the muffled thump of music coming from inside the building. The structure itself was an old warehouse that had been remodeled, mostly to support the third floor as the vip room.

Remedy glanced at Slate’s back when they stepped close enough. She saw his shoulders tense first and then relax. He never liked short notice deliveries, especially when Sevigny was expected.

“Gentlemen,” Slate said when stopped. She stayed just a ways behind his right shoulder. Jace stepped up to have their backs. A couple of men looked up, the others glanced then went back to playing their game. To them, the three were foreigners with little importance. Slate’s voice gave way he was American, like her, though neither had been to the country in years.

Slate preferred to keep his brown hair cut real short, as if growing in from a buzz. He often narrowed his brows, making his dark eyes more menacing depending on the circumstance. Remedy’s hair was only a couple hues lighter, but wavy as hell. Her hair often bumped at the scalp when she had to put it up. Sometimes she didn’t know what color her eyes were; she’d been told they were green and other days they were blue.

Jace stood out against them with bleach spiked hair and ear cuffs, he was thinnest and probably the youngest- his early twenties somewhere. Her and Slate had just passed thirty, but most people didn’t believe the number. Three baby-face foreigners with broken Afrikaans and faded clothes, of course no one was responding.

Slate cleared his throat and made himself more known.

“No entry,” a small man grunted with a strained accent. He was sitting on one of the crates and threw down a card, then grimaced at the play. He lost whatever he had on the table and the others took it away laughing. Remedy clenched the case a little tighter, then flexed her fingers when she noticed how sweaty her palm was getting. Slate pulled out a small black business card from his sleeve and held it out for any one of the guardsmen to take. It took a couple seconds before the gruff, bearded man against the rails snatched it from Slate’s fingers and looked down at it, then back up. Jace shifted behind them and scratched the back of his head. Remedy glanced at him over her shoulder and he straightened up, crossing his arms. Remedy doubt he’d gone to anything more than a slow, buzz-lit pub on a street corner.

“Hulle is hier vir die baas,” the bearded man said aloud. The others finally acknowledged them, gave a nod of approval to go down. The man held the card back out to Slate and with a sneer, Slate snatched it back, flipping it back into his coat sleeve.

He’d been agitated ever since they had to leave and it just kept building during travel. Slate preferred the physically messy labor of killing people or crashing buildings, not the face-to-face trivial business negotiations. Their boss counted on him as his replacement because he never backed down in an argument. She was pretty sure she was along to keep his mouth in check. It seemed that there was something else bothering him, ever since the plane ride. He kept readjusting his coat then. He did so even now, when they descended the steps into the concrete entryway lit by a dim flickering light. The bearded man warned them about their firearms, but never took them.

This wasn’t home turf, they’d be outnumbered anyhow.

The man pressed a long code into a keypad, the doors buzzed, and then he opened them. The music was slightly louder, but as they followed their guide through a dark corridor leading to flashing lights, the house music dropped and Remedy felt the bass vibrate her body. They merged into a sudden heavy crowd. Neon lights scattered and flicked across a large lit dance floor that changed colors to the beat of the music. Remedy kept close to Slate's heels, keeping firm on the case’s handle that her nails pinched her palm. As they followed their guide around ravers and bystanders she checked on Jace; he was distracted by the lights and the people. Women in reflective tops and smeared makeup called to him and tried to get him to stay. Remedy tugged on his sleeve to keep him with her.

The heat was thicker here than outside and odors mixed between strong alcohol sweat and overdone body sprays. Smoke wafted between people off the dance floor as they passed joints; it was heavier on the iron catwalk where the smoke sifted in the changing lights. Remedy wiped the back of her neck again and sighed in relief when they passed under a small mist spray. She knew Slate had to be suffering under that coat of his.

They managed to trail their guide to the complete opposite side of the building to a sectioned room with a large crowded bar and a pissy bartender. He shoved someone back from the counter when they tried to take his soda gun and she fell hard onto the floor with a curse. Remedy grimaced at her, part of her wanting to check if she was alright, but she turned away from the scene. They passed the bathrooms and veered into a hidden room with an elevator and a man sitting in a chair, reading a tabloid she couldn’t understand. Words were exchanged quickly and the three file inside. Remedy stood next to their guide as he pressed the floor number. With a ding, the doors closed and the muffled house music was replaced by a sudden smooth Muzak track. She furrowed her brows, glanced up at the speakers, then over at Jace; both were confused. The bearded man cleared his throat and shifted. She wondered how many awkward elevator lifts he’s had.

It was slow for the short number of floors, but when the doors opened the atmosphere was fairly different. It was smaller and colder and there were less people. The lounge featured neon cube tables with lit rimmed booths. Most of the lighting came from the glowing blue aquariums built into the one wall, sparsely populated with fish. The other side were glass panes that looked out over the rest of the dance floor through the metal trusses and structures. In the center of the lounge was another aquarium, but round with a dark leather seat that encircled. The music wasn’t as loud, but the genre changed to rapping or hop. The bar was directly across from them, small and clean with neon lights slowly changing color across the counter. Remedy stared at Slate’s back to avoid eye contact with anyone, they weren’t shy to stare them down and whisper in plain view. Being underdressed was one thing, but underdressed and late was another. The closer they got to their dealer, the more she wanted this over with. A knot was forming in her stomach.

They passed the bar and stepped into another dark hall, lit with modern square wall lamps.

“Last call!” the bartender said aloud. He repeated it in a couple other languages. She bit her lower lip to think they were so late the bar would close, or that it was because no one would get to nosy about the pay off. They stepped through an open doorway into an exclusive area, talkative and loud with men. The room was small and lightly decorated with modern decor. There was a safari touch to it; the mirrors and wildlife paintings were framed in wood and there was the occasional instrument from tribes she didn’t know. The floor was wide, slick black tile that reflected green light coming from the two tal vertical aquariums at the back center. It backlighted the man sitting in a leather seat ahead of a glass, kidney shaped table on bulky wooden legs. There were two matching sofas to either side occupied by men. Some of them had consorts in their laps or rubbing their shoulders from behind. One young lady seemed uncomfortable to be near Klaue.

At least the smell here wasn’t as suffocating as below; there was tobacco and one of the men must have dropped too much cologne on his skin. Their guide stepped away, and even with Slate in front of her she felt too open. The song changed to something she couldn’t understand. The case felt heavier and the handle was too sweaty; she switched hands and instantly caught attention. She briefly imagined dropping the damn thing and screwing everything up. Sevigny and Klaue had a history, but she never met the latter. 

Slate straightened his shoulders and held his chin up, clasping his hands in front of him at the waist. The businessmen, his henchmen, had hushed whatever conversation they were having to focus on Slate. Their ties were loose, shirt collars bent, and coats ditched to hang on arm rests or the sofa backsides. Klaue had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his collared shirt was unbuttoned. She could tell he had a necklace, but couldn't make it out. He appeared sharp, but disheveled at the same time. His hair was messy, there was sweat on his brow, and when he forced a grin his gold teeth glinted in the green light. His beard must have gone untrimmed for weeks.

Leaning forward he tapped ashes off his cigar into an empty scotch glass.

“Given the timing, I guess you’re Sevigny’s fill ins,” Klaue said and hardly looked the three of them over.

“I had ‘n better image in my head.” His accent was thick and consonants were bold on his tongue.

“So did I,” Slate replied. Remedy instantly shut her eyes and grimaced. Klaue’s grin dropped and he shooed away his consort. The other ladies followed. Their short skirts and close fitted tops caught Jace’s attention. They smiled and giggled at him, jewelry jingling as they hurried out the door. Their bearded friend shut it behind them and stood with his arms crossed, glaring down at Jace.

Slate held his hand out, palm up over his shoulder wriggling his fingers near Remedy’s face. She eyed him, but he refused to meet her gaze. Carefully she slid the case into his hand. It was sleek, metallic, and vague. The only characteristic were the imprinted initials B.S. that stood out at the right angle under the light.

“Regardless of presentation, we brought Sevigny’s pay.” Slate tapped his fingers around the edges of the case, impatient. She wanted to reprimand him or hide her face out of shame for his attitude, or at least elbow him. Their boss looked bad enough right now, Slate was just going to make it worse. He met her gaze after a double-take. It was a couple of seconds of her silent plea for him to stifle his curtness for a little longer. He still had that irritable look in his eye, but he dropped his chin a bit and relaxed his stance, seeming less agitated. Klaue resituated himself in his seat and stuck his cigar between his teeth, eyeing the case as he puffed a couple of times then ditched what was left into his glass.

“Hm.” He nodded to the table. Slate approached in a few long strides. He set the case down on the glass facing Klaue and unlatched it. With a push he slid the case to the other end right at Klaue’s knees. Slate stood up straight, but didn’t retreat back to stand near Remedy. She wish he had, even if it felt like he shouldn’t.

Klaue picked up a couple bounds of cash, glancing over the stacks that were underneath them before thumbing a pile and beginning to count quietly. He was estimating what was there. While his company had drinks and smokes to satiate them, Slate stood there bothered. Jace shifted weight to his other foot, but Remedy try to be more patient than either of them. Again she wished Sevigny was able to come instead; she sort of thought she could could do this. Now she wasn't sure. It'd only been a moment in that room to get the gist of what kind of man Klaue was.

Rarely did Remedy deal with clients and collectors herself, but she didn't kill people like Slate. She preferred the background, so Sevigny taught her how to track accounts and move the money about. She overlooked transfers, deposits, and withdrawals. She made the bank trips for the cash and changed the pins for his accounts regularly. She also outfitted the forms and then filled them out for their paperwork, then filed them in cabinets she organized. Essentially his accountant, but what he taught her was her only experience and she hated numbers. It was better than going out into the field unless she was really needed.

This last minute job was a little different. Remedy often knew what the payout was or what was owe. She assumed because this was Ulysses Klaue, Sevigny didn’t want her to take care of the payment. He kept everything separate, including the loan he took. She couldn’t document it anywhere. She didn’t get the actual money case until Slate handed it to her in the taxi that night. But, Remedy had been with Sevigny for so long, she trusted he had things under control.

Klaue dropped a stack without finishing the count. He groaned loudly as he rolled his head and shoulders, muscles popping. The look he gave Slate was ill intent.

“I’m insulted.”

Remedy’s face betrayed her and she stared at him. Klaue’s men put down their drinks and Slate was the center of bad attention. He held up a finger at their stirring restlessness, reaching into his coat’s inside pocket. He pulled out an elongated black velvet box and handed it to the nearest man. She watched curiously, slowly realizing that this was hidden from her on purpose. This was why he was constantly shifting his coat. Why didn't he tell her about collateral? Klaue took the box with disdain and carelessly opened it to find a delicate silver chain that curved into a V and adorned with small diamonds. Matching earrings were clipped into the space above it. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t immediately reject it. He studied it in the green light for a bit, eyeing the cut and shimmer. He started chuckling a little and looked about.

“Feels like I’m being proposed to.” His men snickered. Slate didn't. She didn’t. Klaue snapped the case shut with a loud clap and dropped it on top the bound cash. He peered back at Slate with a shrug and held his hands out.

“If fluctuation was a different story, I’d take it but uh...honestly, dis doesn’t change the situation.”

Slate’s jaw clenched and Remedy was at a loss. Jace stepped up near her, his nervous self repeatedly switching weight on his legs. Like everyone else in the room, she focused on Slate for an explanation. His arms crossed and his fingers tapped; in the corner of her eye she noticed the water shimmer in the aquarium tanks. On the outside he passed for any normal human being, but his mutant ability reacted to his frustration and impatience. She learned this was a thing for a lot of mutants and emotion had to be kept in check; she had to keep him calm. As long as water was around, Slate could always build the pressure around it then control it. The fallback was range- if he wasn’t within thirty feet it was useless.

“He wouldn’t have thrown that in for anyone else,” Slate seethed. “You know that covers his debt _and_ it’s interest. He’s paid you.” His nose wrinkled and it rubbed Klaue the wrong way. The older man straightened.

“He’s _under_ paid me; that shit only matters if I can make a profit off it. Do I look like I deal Tiffany’s on a regular basis?” He gestured to himself in a sarcastic manner and tilted his head with a pissed stare and forced grin.

“But since you’re so insistent on it, I’ll keep it as a gift.” Klaue nodded his head to the man on his right, who took up the case and box and carried it off despite Slate protesting. The men on the couch reached for guns on their hips as a threat, but Slate refused to retreat back. His fingers moved slowly over his arm and water in one tank moved enough to make a low rumble, enough for Klaue to hear. His brows furrowed and he began to look over his shoulder.

Remedy stepped fast to Slate’s side. She placed a hand on Slate’s elbow, her other on his fingers to close them flat.

“We’ll tell Sevigny,” she said. She tried not to falter when Klaue’s gaze shifted to her, but it was hard not to fear those eyes. At least her voice wasn’t as bad as her facial expressions. The intensity didn’t leave the room, she knew simply telling their boss wasn’t enough to get them out of there. They may not get out of there at all. Klaue was in control of the situation and there was no making him accept what he didn’t want. The collateral failed and she was on the wrong side.

“It’s _his_ mistake, but he’ll fix it.” Remedy added. Slate didn’t like her words; she gripped his elbow harder. Sevigny had to make it right, because if not then he’d be dead and her probably after. When you don’t pay money back in a normal life, it follows you and fucks you over fiscally. When you don’t pay money back in the black market, it literally owns you or kills you.

The silent look between her and Klaue lasted a few seconds, but it felt longer to her. He made her feel so small. He scratched the stubble on his cheek and then smiled at her.

“His interest goes up.”

Slate started to retaliate, but Remedy squeezed his elbow hard enough he flinched. Klaue seemed to enjoy the discomfort and finally laughed, before giving Remedy a wide-eyed serious gaze.

“ _Twenty percent_ ,” he said aloud while nodding. Remedy didn’t realize she had nodded with him, she hadn’t meant to, but it was done. Slate seethed a curse under his breath and she turned around sharply, using her weight to bring him with her. Jace was pale.

“Dave!” Klaue shouted. The bearded man at the door perked up and smiled, letting them out of the room. In the dark corridor Slate finally pulled away from her.

“You made shit worse, Remmy.”

“Save it,” she replied and had to swallow the lump in her throat. It was like she stepped off a roller coaster, walking out of that room.

* * *

 

 

Klaue watched the doorway while the trio left, his men returning to previous conversation before they’d been interrupted. They scoffed at early morning hour and were happy they had the bar to themselves now. They wanted more cognac and to bring the women back in. Limbani came back over from counting the case and assessing the set, but Klaue didn’t pay him any mind. He knew Sevigny always had the real thing when it came to jewelry or items in general. What bothered Klaue was he had to wait longer to get what his money. What bothered him was the mouthy grunge-laiden boy. There were no exceptions for a late payment. Without looking away from the door, Klaue grinned as an idea came to mind.

“How many people does it take to deliver a message?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Nice of you to use my bad arm to your advantage,” Slate muttered once they got to the lounge. The consorts from earlier were sitting at the bar sipping mixed drinks and flirting with the bartender. When they saw Jace they stopped and started giggling again. Jace had enough sense this time. He hurried his pace to the elevator and pressed the button repeatedly to hurry up.

“Don’t know about you two mates, but I’m buying a large tub of sorbet for the flight home. My anxiety is-” Jace whistled two notes, emphasizing with his hands in the air. Remedy didn’t mean to smile at his panic, but it was cute that he preferred sweets to a shot. She’d rather take the shot. Slate scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Straight to the airfield, no stops.” He looked at the round aquarium and used his arm to test the water. It shimmered with him in time. He cast a glare to Remedy but she ignored him. The elevator door dinged and opened, but the guardsmen from below was inside. He held his gun to Jace’s face and pulled the trigger. Remedy yelped when his blood splattered back and he dropped with a perfect bloody hole in his forehead. Slate reacted first, rushing the man and locking back his arm just as he fired another shot. It went into the ceiling. With a quick jerk, Slate snapped his arm out of its socket causing the man to yell and drop his gun.

Remedy turned at the sound of a cocked gun to see the bartender taking aim with a shotgun. The girls were squealing and ducking under the counter behind the stools. Three more men came out from the corridor, including Dave. She drew her gun and ducked behind one of the neon cubes when they fired. Slate used Jace’s killer as a shield, but one of the shotgun bullets hit the guy's kneecap and he was useless. He was pummeled by the time Slate dropped him and took cover by the round aquarium. It took enough hits to crack the glass, but not break it. With a sneer Slate moved his arms and the water burst out in a large crushing rush of water that hit Klaue’s men with enough force to throw them back into the corridor.

The bartender popped back up over his bar after reloading, but Remedy fired her bersa and clipped his neck. Blood spurted and he dropped his weapon, clasping his throat and falling.

“Remmy, get in the elevator!” Slate shouted at her. She thought the stairs were better, but they were further.

Klaue’s men got back up and now there were more to see what the hell was happening. Slate held one hand out to the wall and his fingers shook as he slowly turned his palm. Remedy looked behind her to see the water vibrating and the glass cracking. The fish were going crazy. She rushed to the elevator to get out of the way, bullets missing and hitting the elevator ahead of her. One ricocheted inside and the lights went out and sparks burst from the panel. She veered behind a crouched down Slate and tried to cover fire.

“Fok!” Dave cussed and gripped his arm, retreating back into the corridor. Remedy felt a bite on her cheek and ducked back, covering her face from the bullet skim.

With a loud pop and crack the aquariums on the wall busted and Slate stood, sweeping the water over the other men and into the glass window panes on the other side of the lounge. With the men's weight and water's momentum, the windows shattered and they were thrown out yelling into the metal beams and trusses. It didn’t take long for people to start screaming when a body or two landed on the dance floor. Remmy stared at Jace’s body, trying to think of a way they could take him back. Slate grabbed both her shoulders and rushed her through the staircase exit, knowing more people were coming after them. They hurried down the dark stairwell, the iron grate stairs creaked all the way down. Shots were fired from above, they didn’t see who, but they got out the bottom exit by the elevator shaft. A remix of Swedish House Mafia blared and skipped over the speakers as they rushed out through the bottom lounge, but they hit the crowd of people filing down from the catwalks. Remedy looked up to see one of the men limping on it and she shoved Slate forward with the crowd to blend in. More shots fired off; she reached out to Slate’s head and made him duck down. He was taller, they’d see him before seeing her. He reached a free hand out and repeatedly waved it overhead, breaking the mist sprayers and pouring large amounts of water out of their spickets to divert anymore of Klaue’s men and security coming out of their posts. People were drenched. Some slipped and it caused a pileup for others. Both the back exit and front entrance were overcrowded with people trying to get out, at least those who had enough sense to leave. There were wasted people slumped over tables, some party-goers passed out on the floor. Remedy tried to avoid anyone with their phones on who were live recording.

They stuck with the front entrance. Slate tripped or shoved his way out, keeping a tight hold around Remedy’s wrist until they made it into the street, soaked but free. They started to run in the direction they arrived from, but familiar sirens were speeding down the road towards the club. They bolted across the street instead and took off into the night, one less person with them. Remedy’s cheek stung from the threat.


	2. Chapter 2

Daylight creeped in the east. Sunlight fell through the foyer windows, beaming soft light and dust danced. It was silent in the old Victorian save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. The furniture hadn’t been dusted in weeks, the glass mirrors were aged with streaks. Some had small chips and if one noticed them, they’d notice the other dents and broken things in the house. Throughout the old home there were boards swelling up from water damage brought by rain. Old gunshot holes speckled the kitchen, a bathroom, and the wall of the stairs. A couple of the steps were missing, others were halved and at one point there had been carpet; stubborn nails clung to small tears of dirty red fabric. The second floor was in no better shape. Hardly any decor was updated, as if the century never left.

Birds chirped outside, but their singsongs stopped when a dark navy truck spun to a halt in its gravel courtyard. The sunlit dust swirled when Slate threw open the old doors, still bloody and ruffled from the shootout a night ago.

“Sevigny!” he boomed through the old home. He kept stomping down the halls, heading to the stairs. He hollered his boss’s name once more and was surprised when he saw the old man sitting in the office chair downstairs just as he passed the entryway. His boots squeaked on the old wood when he quickly turned back to enter. Remedy slowly came in through the doors, closing them with her heel. She had managed to clean the blood off her face, but like Slate she had gone unkempt. With her interview in a few days, hopefully she could calm the cut down enough to cover it up. She walked slow after Slate, seeing him turn into the office.

“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” Slate said as he approached the large oversized desk. Behind it, pale but recovering was an older gentleman with a receding peppered white hairline. His mustache and beard were trimmed, but he left the stubble across his jawlines and up into his sideburns. His sclera were red and his eyes had circles underneath. When Remedy saw him she wondered just how ill he had been the past couple days.

Sevigny smiled short and glanced at one of the windows, blinking a few times with raised brows. Perhaps he couldn’t believe he wasn’t dead yet, either.

“Another day to complain. I say a mild success.”

“Wasn’t much of a success,” Slate breathed. “But the next time you need someone to negotiate with that guy, keep Remmy out of it. You owe more than what you did yesterday.” Sevigny was too exhausted already, so if this stressed him more they couldn’t tell. His eyes just languidly blinked, looking between the two of them.

“You weren’t winning that conversation Slate. If anything you were close to attacking Klaue. We’d be dead with Jace,” Remedy said, crossing her arms. Her boss was focused on the red cut on her face. He looked sorry and opened a drawer in his desk, digging around for something. Slate continued on about what happened, about how he pushed the collateral but Klaue was too stubborn to take it. Then Remedy agreeing to jack up interest and by the end of the night he was fleeing Johannesburg in a crap ass jalopy of a vehicle with someone else’s blood all over his face, scuttling the airfield like lost ducks. Sevigny pulled out a small tube of witch hazel and set it on the desk. The point of Slate’s detailed outburst was that it was a pain in the ass and he wanted extra pay.

“When you can afford to give it to me, anyway,” Slate added, breathless now that he had ranted. Remedy eyed Sevigny’s strewn paperwork on the desk, all in shorthand. Sevigny held his hands out in a tired motion.

“Fine,” he replied. “Fine...I’m just glad that the two of you made it back in tact.” He gestured to the space behind them, but had no words for the other one who didn’t return. Remedy shook her head and looked away from him. Emotions conflicted inside her from betrayal to anger and grief.

“Are you finished Slate?” She had questions of her own and his repeated complaints wore her out more than the run from Johannesburg. He was tired of her too, he did nothing but berate her about what she did in the club. She had bruises on her skin from Slate tugging her along to keep up and when she slowed down he shouted at her. They didn’t even rest on the plane. He gave her a look and backed out of the room, apparently done.

“I have a short timer, Sevigny,” he said.

“If I have to meet that man again, you’re giving me my own terms.” He spun and walked out, his steps heavy walking up the steps and across the second floor. Remedy rubbed her temples and decided to pull one of the old chairs closer to her boss’s desk. The two of them were quiet for a few moments, waiting for the other to start speaking first.

“He talks as if I don’t know him,” he muttered and scribbled on the paper in front of him. He nudged the witch hazel towards her, but she shook her head. He gestured to her bullet nick.

“Is that your only wound, Remmy?” the old man asked. Remedy exhaled loudly, thinking how to answer him. She’d been with him since she was a teenager, both her and Slate. He taught her what he could about the business, but also tried to be more than a boss to her. Sometimes she could share her feelings with him and sometimes she couldn’t.

“Physically, not really,” Remedy answered and looked up.

“Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t pay him?” Before he could answer she kept talking.

“I could’ve helped you find a better solution or wired extra funds from somewhere, I don’t know, but I could have helped you make that go so much smoother.”

“It didn’t go smoothly because Klaue is an ass.” Sevigny made a noise in his throat and turned to the extended desk beside him. He moved a few things aside before pulling out a decanter of brandy hiding in plain sight. He set it down in front of him and searched for two glasses. Remedy noticed he was trying not to leave the chair. There was a knocking noise from inside the house, like someone beating hard on the walls. The pipes were old and always clacked when someone started one of the showers. Slate was winding down, finally.

“Back in Bangkok, when I had to steal with him I literally had to do things to the T, yet he was unpredictable. At the end of everything we agreed exactly on what he wanted. No room for negotiation, no substitution, whatever he said went.” Sevigny found what he was looking for and pulled two small shot glasses from two different spots in his desk. The thing was always a mess, yet organized. She imagined it to be like Mary Poppins’ bag of magic. He carefully poured two drinks with a shaking hand, then set one aside for her. He downed his glass and coughed. The shot glass reminded her of Jace and she grimaced.

“I thought there was a chance he’d accept it,” Sevigny stared out across the room, sighing heavily. Remedy saw he really believed it and she recalled how Klaue took time to look the piece over. Sevigny wasn’t entirely wrong, but shit still hit the fan.

“It could’ve have worked better if you let me help,” she said. Her boss shook his head and tried to pour himself another glass, but it sploshed. She reached out and took the decanter away from him. He stared at the half empty glass.

“I didn’t tell you anything because I knew you were leaving me. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to stay.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked at her with glassy eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was because he was sad or in physical pain. He never talked about the pain.

“Plus, there’s nothing you could have done for this one. Most of my accounts are drained now and it all happened last minute,” he said. Instantly Remedy huffed. She set the decanter out of his reach and still ignored her own shot.

“I could have added my savings in there. It would’ve passed," she muttered. Her boss smiled at her and ticked a finger.

“And I didn’t want you to do that,” he said.

“I’m a grown woman, I can do what I want with my money.”

“I’m not letting you pay for my mishap.” He drank his glass again and set it aside, still smiling. The past couple years she had noticed him strangely weak on random days. He’d look awful for about a week then bounce back like nothing happened. She could tell he was ill, but he didn’t like talking about it. No one talked about it, but it bothered everyone. On those days he was sick, he could never swerve properly or at all. Swerving was his main way of traveling about, but it hurt if he couldn’t do it right. Even if he had the money, he’d still have trouble reaching Klaue in time, and reaching him while so sick was a bad show.

She watched him read over his own handwriting, studying his face.

“I deserve an explanation, Beau,” she said. There was a long silence between them. The birds outside chirped, wind chimes blew in a breeze. The pipes knocked again when Slate got out of the shower. For a second she feared he’d come back down to complain again, but he didn’t. Hopefully he passed out. She didn’t realize how tired she was feeling until she placed her head in her hand.

“It’s not just me, you know,” he started.

“Lately business everywhere has been awful. I’m not the only man suffering; there’s no work and canceled deals. Everything just went wrong all at once for me and I had nothing to pull out of the banks for Klaue.” She felt there was more to it; his illness was definitely a part of it. The silence returned and she realized he wasn’t going to say anything else. She’d have to settle for the crumbs of his story.

“I want you to give me your actual numbers later,” she said. Fixing the paperwork was going to bug her knowing it was wrong. The last time she ran everything was a few days ago. If things dropped as quick as he said, everything was behind. She stood slowly, her legs sore. Sevigny tried to stand up with her, but faltered. He leaned against the desk and groaned. She wanted to reach out, but didn’t. He didn’t want her help. He never wanted help when he was hurting.

“Did you already a secure another job?” he asked. Whether it was the pain or emotion, seeing him broke like that made her hesitate. Time was the only thing that attached her to Sevigny, or so she wanted to believed. He was someone she took orders from and she tried to keep it that way. Motherly instincts kicked in for other people, but for him she always paused. It wasn’t that she hated him, bonding was too difficult given their history. Her heart belonged to the one thing she lost long ago and could never get back, but now with Min’s help she could finally start over.

“I have an interview with an adoption agency in Seoul," she started.

“I’m going to help translate for English couples.” Talking about it made her smile in light of everything.

“Not a bad place to start...hopefully, you get what you want.” They both knew the topic was hard for her and this was something she’d been planning for a while. She looked away anyhow, trying to avoid the memories of her teenage years. Sevigny sat down in his chair again and sighed with relief. He downed full shot glass.

“Let me know when it’s official- and Remmy,” he said when she started to walk off. He stretched the witch hazel out to her and reluctantly she took it.

“I’m terribly sorry you met Ulysses in such a way.” She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, but she checked her cheek and shrugged. It was part of the business and she hadn’t gotten the worst of the encounter. She thought about the dealer backlighted in the room, arms on the chair rests, grinning. In control.

She turned and walked off.

 

* * *

 

 

Her shower was cold; she didn’t care. It felt like a punishment she needed, but for what she couldn’t answer. Maybe for Jace, maybe because she did make things worse and was leaving it for everyone else. Over time Remedy became used to seeing people die while on the job. It had been a while since the last time it happened in front of her, even longer since blood hit her face. It was worse when she actually liked the person.

It had to be afternoon when she dressed and did up her hair. Her stomach ached for food, but her body was too tired. In her room her walls were plain with bent wires and broken picture hooks. The floor warped, the small old furniture was stacked with misplaced clothing or books that ranged between English and Korean. There were loose spreadsheets and small handbooks on accounting with many dogeared pages. She closed the old blue curtains, ignoring their musty smell, and crawled into her downy covers. The crinkle of the comforter relaxed her.

She slept into the next day, after breakfast, but before lunch. Slate's truck was parked, but he was gone from the property. Sevigny had secluded himself in the master bedroom on the first floor. The doors were locked and she could hear the melody of a timely song in French from the side. Alone, she cooked and ate a meal big enough for two people, but still munched on a popsicle as she sat down at Sevigny’s desk. He left a small list of valid accounts to work with only; all his other ones she couldn’t fix. Remedy corrected the numbers in shorthand before moving them to spreadsheets in the computer. It took most of her day, but to the side she made her checklist for Seoul.

She could only take what was really needed. A lot of her books would have to be shipped to the new address Min secured for her. Remedy wondered when she and Zeke would show, but given Sevigny’s situation it would be soon. When night fell, Remedy flipped on the lights to the porch, the halls and dining room. Sevigny remained secluded. She preheated the corner oven for frozen pizzas, the small stereo on the counter played outdated country music. It interfered a little. Just as she sat to ponder anything else she needed for her move, she heard the double doors open.

“I AM SADNESS!” a small voice piped out loud. Min’s tall, slender self spun into the threshold, black hair whipping as she grabbed hold of the siding with a mock pout behind her mask. Her round eyes reminded Remedy of a small child.

“Remmy how could you! My spa buddy is leaving! Who will shop with me to build bears and bubble the fountains?”

Not long after her, a young, narrow man with tight curls came up, duffel bags in each hand. He was wide eyed, shaking a little. He tried to smile but it was nervous.

“You know I’m going to have to go with her now, right?” he said. “She’s going to make me sit and get my nails done. I’m going to be driving at two-twenty from police with nine inch teal nails and glitter.” Min smacked him on the arm playfully.

“Don’t be ridiculous; swarovski crystals are better.”

“ _No_ ,” Zeke replied but he was smiling anyway. He dropped the duffel bags and they sat at the table with Remedy. An awkward silence fell over. Zeke’s leg bounced up and down repeatedly, a tic he always had when something was going wrong.

“Shame about Jace,” Zeke said. The girls nodded. Min pouted her lip behind her mask.

“I’m going to miss my little Nysnc. He was too cute. I’ll miss you two spazzing out together,” she said, looking over at Zeke. Remedy smiled at several memories then swallowed hard. It was final when they talked about it, but saying how it happened was so normal by now. Talking about how one died became akeen to talking about the weather.

“So, when is your interview?” Zeke asked.

“In a few days. Thanks to Min though, I can settle a little easier. I know everything sucks right now, but I really do appreciate you giving me your old apartment.” Remedy smiled at her friend. Min waved a hand as if it were nothing.

“At least I’ll know where you will be and can pop in on my weeks off,” Min smiled behind her mask. “Besides, it may not even work out. You will still have a place to stay if that happens.” She sounded almost hopeful when she spoke and tensed her shoulders, fidgeting her nails. She didn’t want Remedy to leave, neither of them did; but they were being polite about it anyhow.

“We’ll see how it goes,” Remedy said and crossed her arms. If their doubt didn’t bother her before, it did now. Along with the situation between her boss and the arms dealer she was fighting the pressure to stay. Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose and went over numbers again in her head. They should be okay.

“Don’t worry about whats-his-face,” Min said. Often she knew what was on someone’s mind. She was intuitive, sometimes it was helpful and sometimes it freaked everyone out.

“Leave him to Slate and Sevigny; they kept all of us out anyway.” She sounded bitter about the lie. Zeke made a sound, not saying anything, but he was staring at Remedy’s face. She absentmindedly rubbed the cut. They weren’t used to seeing wounds on her.

“This really couldn’t of been taken care of with a phone call?” Zeke asked, looking between the two of them. He didn’t like to get too mixed up with clients or their details either. He preferred to just know where they were going, when, and what was he driving. Remedy shook her head and looked down.

“Klaue calls you, you don’t call him unless he considers you important.” She shrugged; it’s what was explained to her on the plane a couple days ago because she asked the same thing. Sevigny was given a time and date, then a reminder. He was small scale compared to whoever else Klaue dealt with.

“Guess Klaue considered him important enough to not kill, then,” Zeke said.

“That’s because _now_ , he’s got more money coming to him,” Slate broke in. He was leaning on the threshold, unclean and sweaty. He must’ve been out in the woods all day.

“Those two have a history, but either way we’re still fucked because Remedy slipped the negotiation.” His tone and eyes already exhausted her. She set her hands on the table and bore into him.

“I’m not doing this again. You’re a broken record.”

“And you’re ditching a financial disaster for chopsticks and K-pop.” At his retort Min glared at him, not taking lightly to his comment. Zeke put a hand on her arm, then turned in his chair to hold one up to Slate and asked him to tone down his irritation. The way he asked, Slate didn’t retaliate and seemed too tired to continue the argument in the kitchen. He simply rolled off the wall out into the hallway, disappearing out the front doors. Remedy stared after him knowing she’d have to address this before she left. He was the biggest pain in her ass, but like Sevigny time bonded them. She excused herself and walked out. Min huffed in response.

“Look I’ll put the pizzas in. You okay with pizza tonight, right?” He was looking at the boxes from the freezer. “We got cheese, pepperoni, barbeque. And Hawai- damn it who keeps bringing this nasty shit back in here.”

“I like the pineapple one,” Min pouted behind her mask. Zeke grabbed it and shoved the others back in the freezer.

“Hawaiian it is.”

* * *

 

 

 

Remedy followed Slate out onto the porch and shut both of the doors as quietly as she could. She turned to Slate leaning on a post, arms crossed looking out at the gravel courtyard and into the dark woods. Zeke’s right hand hatchback was parked a distance from Slate’s pickup. Crickets chirped and the breeze was mildly cooler. She walked up to the opposite post and stood there, hand on the wood.

“Leaving the business has always been an end goal for you,” Slate muttered then looked over at her. She didn’t meet his gaze. “You're stupid to leave. Reintegration for people like us doesn’t work out successfully. It’s a false ideal in your head. I don’t get why you still want to do it.”

“Because I’m tired of “the business,”” she quoted with her fingers. She rolled her eyes and looked at him. Slate never liked the idea that she wanted to go. Personally he thought it was best to live the way they did, off grid and not tied down to society normalcies. It was also because he himself could not go back and didn’t get why she wanted to try a normal life.

“You’re doing it at a hell of a time,” he said.

“This was well before Klaue. Sevigny already told me himself it’s not _my_ mistake to fix.” As soon as she said it Slate’s gaze flickered from anger to pain then anger again.

“That doesn’t make it any less reason to sort shit out and make sure no reprimandices follow you there,” he said. Remedy paused; it wasn’t like she hadn’t thought of enemies tracking her down once she was by herself. She looked back to the house and imagined Sevigny lying ill inside all day trying to sort out extra money for the arms dealer. She had to trust he’d actually do his end this time, because she had taken steps to secure her identity and cover her trails.

“I might see the guy again. You think I want to?” Slate added, speaking in a harsh whisper and stepping near her. He lingered by her side and she hated the feeling. She imagined him and Klaue meeting again, both getting frustrated, both disagreeing and then another shootout.

“It wasn’t my mistake or yours, but you still have an obligation to us.” He grabbed her arm out of spite. It wasn’t hard as it had been the night before, when he was dragging her to get out of Johannesburg. He turned her body until she finally looked up at him.

“Our lives are too intertwined,” he said. “We’ve been in this forever and you’re still going to hightail it just because Sevigny’s says it’s okay.”

She backhanded his hold off her.

“Then maybe the two of you should of let me help to begin with. I understand that Klaue is a hovering height of doom here, but Sevigny wants to deal with it himself. He took the loan from the guy, I don’t know what for, he hasn’t told anyone, and he intended to pay Klaue back. I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped and I no longer want to be involved in this.” As she talked her voice became louder. Slate hit his hands together out of irritation.

“ _You already are!_ We're on the radar now. You’ve seen his face back there; remember how he looked at us? You really want to leave knowing that man has a hit on you already?” His voice escalated, he was yelling now. His eyes were wide, bewildered. He thought she was stupid. He kept clenching his hands into fists, trying to get a handle on himself. Remedy heard some of the pipes in the house knock and tried to level her frustration for Slate’s sake.

“I prepared everything, Slate. No trails.” She toned down her voice, keeping it steady.

“I was hardly in the field, so there’s no media pictures of me. And I know we’ve all been together for a while but I hate this job. You know I hate it.” Slate just nodded firmly, not in understanding, but because she was talking and he was trying to hold his tongue. He wouldn’t look at her even as she tried to keep his gaze.

“I highly doubt you’ll talk with Klaue again, anyway. Sevigny has to fix this, so he’s going to do it right. They have history, like you said.” It was hard to picture their boss, who was stern with a sweet smile, working alongside that sweaty dealer back in Africa who sneered with a hatefulness that had to be second nature to him. For a split second, Remedy doubted things would be okay.

“Whatever makes you feel better.” It was all she got out of him. He walked off the porch and back into the darkness, getting into his vehicle. She watched him drive off and heaved a shaky sigh. It was hard reasoning with Slate, he took everything so personal. He made it sound like he was concerned for her safety, but really it was a try at scaring her to stay. Everyone wanted her to stay, except her. It made it harder to go.

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Sevigny was well enough to walk without his cane. His color returned to a healthy tone, his eyes were no longer bloodshot and he moved without any sort of pain at all. He smiled as he looked around outside, they had all gathered out back under one of the large hornbeam trees. It’s leaves blew in the wind. Everyone dressed in black attire, Min and Remedy in short black dresses holding their white balloons, pink strings flicking from a gust. The men in button ups and slacks; Zeke held the third balloon. Sevigny folded his hands over one another at his waist and looked up at the sky, nodding.

“We’re familiar with death,” he started. “It gets to a point that people like us are desensitized to it. However, we are still human, and still feel when someone we’ve grown attached to passes on.” He made an expression.

“I must use that term lightly; this was a pretty brutal way to go, but rest assured Jace didn’t feel a thing. His presence was fairly rare among us, but- it was enough. He arrived when we needed him, he did his job a little scantily but young ones learn from repetition.” Remedy and Slate glanced at each other then looked away.

“I’d like to think in time, Jace would have excelled at what he wanted with a humor we will miss. May the young man rest in peace.” There was a brief pause as the wind blew gently, then picked up. Three white balloons bounded into the air, squeaking when they hit each other. Remedy sighed watching them float up, sweet and childlike compared to the picture in her head. His gunshot hole. His eyes staring up. She almost rubbed her cheek, but stopped herself.

“Is it too early to sing Bye-Bye-Bye?'' Min whispered.

“Babe really.”

“I’m kidding!” Min was smiling behind her mask, but her eyes were glassy. Zeke shook his head, but he wasn’t upset. He put his arm around her and they all watched the balloons float out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Time and money started a habit of screwing him over. Inflation soared between the countries and his accounts in Africa weren’t the only ones affected. It spanned through Europe, touched Singapore, India, Thailand, Malaysia and carried across the seas. One of his American accounts had to be closed. There’d been an influx of “superheroes” since the Avengers came to light a few years back and the mutant-human war was never specific to one spot. The damn things popped up everywhere. Suppliers couldn’t come up with enough materials to meet his demands to build his weapons. Clients got cold feet, especially the politicians. No one wanted to buy what couldn’t be provided and the crack down on corruption rose. Despite all that, he pushed and pushed hard.

Ulysses Klaue had a way to make people do what he wanted, weather by playing with their heads to make them feel like shit or physically terrifying a person they’d see him in their nightmares. Sometimes things took a while, but as long as he kept up his presence he won in the end. That’s how his business needed to work for him to stay on top. Second chances were a threat; everyone had a weight to pull.  He always did his end, it was everyone else who screwed it up.

There were bodies dropping every week; if they weren’t his let downs, then it was the law. He and his men had two shootouts since Die Senuwee and Johanneseburg was now inhabitable for the time being. His trips were becoming too confined to the continent and even his latest one to Chad was canceled.

Led Zeppelin played low on an old radio perched in the corner. Ulysses sank hard into a worn leather chair and groaned. The desk light was dim and lit only enough to see his desk papers. There were a couple pictures of an attractive woman with dark hair near the lamp. In one she held a gun, cropping a tease towards whoever took the photo. Monitor screens hooked to the wall showed fluctuation of various markets. Another showed cameras overlooking the safehouse property; dogs barked in the distance and night locusts chirped fierce. The heat was nearly suffocating, the long iron fan ticking back and forth to cool off the small space. He left the wooden shutters open and the waning moonlight fell on one small spot in the room.

 

_Must I holler? Must I, must I, must I shake 'em on down?_

_Ooh, I done been mistreated, baby, I believe I'll shake 'em on down._

_Gave my baby twenty dollar bill,_

_If that don't shake her, Sure my shot, shot, shotgun will._

He stared off into space, right hand in his beard and his left tapping a pen on his desk. There came a breeze by the window, one that wasn’t ordinary. Ulysses stiffened at the site of goldish dust flowing by, coming back and then disappearing again. He glanced at the analog on the wall and straightened up.

“I have front doors, frog.” Ulysses’ voice was low and tired. The dust flowed in through the window and swirled about in a form, eventually materializing into Sevigny. He coughed roughly into a fist, his other hand gripping a bulged leather bag. Ulysses figured the given distance between here and England, he traveled quite a while. By the look on his face, he was ready to drop out.

“I’ve no time for your harrybacks. Two of them are sleeping anyway,” Sevigny shrugged and adjusted his clothing. Klaue scanned his monitors before spotting one of them and barked into his two-way radio. Making sure they stood their guard he looked back at the old man, who dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. Ulysses snorted.

“Surprised you remember this little shithole. Guessing your treatments are working if you’re...the hell you call it, dusting about? Sweeping?”

“ _Swerving_ ,” Sevigny corrected. He propped up the bag then tossed it to Ulysses. He caught it easily despite its weight and set in his lap, unzipping it. He lifted his chin to see the pale paper slips inside, bounded and crumpled. They were euros.

“I didn’t have time to convert the currency, but it’s all there- remainder plus increased interest.” Sevigny waved at it like it was a burden he was glad to be rid of and crossed his arms. He was willing to wait for Ulysses to count the money, already used to the routine. Ulysses retrieved his money counter and set the coffee table up for stacks. He sat on the couch, shoving aside a thin sheet over the armrest. It half fell to the floor. As he kept feeding the machine Sevigny wondered about the small space, surveying but never touching. The elephant in the room loomed.

“If you want an apology, you’re not getting one,” Ulysses muttered. “Least you lost only one. Waterboy cost me some loyal hires that night on top of lost money.” The machine clicked, he noted the number, piled the bills, ripped a paper bind and filled another stack. Sevigny leaned against the window and shut his eyes.

“I am well aware you’re not one for apologizing, Klaue. That said, I can’t say I’m sorry either. I wanted to be there in person. Found myself scrounging leftover accounts from Italy and the next thing I know, I’m falling thirteen-thousand feet as solid mass and flailing around.” Sevigny shuddered at the memory, but smiled. “It was only for a few seconds, but such a feeling, huh?”

Ulysses paused, thinking back to a similar happening. Sevigny purposely reminded him.

“The treatments have done something though. I have a round before Christmas and then a couple after New Year’s,” Sevigny said and heavily sighed. It didn't sound like relief. Ulysses slowly turned his head to look at the old Frenchman, irritated. The man looked like he was grieving someone; maybe the lanky pale boy that got shot up in the club?

“Holidays are a pain in the ass, but at least you have your health again, ja?” Ulysses said. He stared until his guest felt it and looked him in the eye. Ulysses didn’t want to hear regret about what the two just went through. Ulysses hated waiting for his money, hating loaning out to _anyone_ , so he never did it. This one time he did and it became more complicated than it needed to be. If the Frenchman wanted to regret anything, he needed to keep it to himself. Ulysses warned him from the get go.

“Only reason any of this happened is because you saved my life,” Ulysses spoke slowly and with an expression of disdain.

“If your doctor in America didn’t fix you, I’m not doing this shit again, especially if your little mutants are surfin’ about.” Ulysses pointed at him, but the Frenchman smiled softly in response and chuckled. Another stack clicked through. He became more convinced this was the final payout he deserved about a month ago.

“Slate was the only one, the others were to keep him grounded,” Sevigny said. Ulysses noticed he was being careful with his words, but didn’t know why. He thought back to the three foreigners showing up in the vip lounge. A nervous leached hair little shit and a quiet woman who obviously had to be a buffer for the irritable mutant. The look of shock on her face when things didn’t play through, though, told him she wasn't in the loop of any of this to begin with. He tried to recall her features, but it was dark in that room.

Her hair was a mess, though.

“Die young lady was a little placating,” Ulysses confessed. “She was convinced you’d come through.”

He started bagging the euros back into the bag, glancing at Sevigny as he spoke. The Frenchman tensed when she was brought up; briefly Ulysses wondered why and considered jabbing him to find out. Everything about Sevigny’s body language was blocking the subject. The machine clicked.

“She did make it back, ja? Good; I only wanted one to run back to ya. I was hoping your mutant would’ve dropped dead that night too, but I’ll be prepared for the little shit next time.” He hit some part of Sevigny’s sensitivity, because he straightened up, a cross look on his face. The man was too attached to his lackies.

“I’ll try not to banter with you about bloodshed, because in all honesty I would like not meet with you on any other terms,” Sevigny said. There was a pause as Ulysses processed what he was saying, then raised his eyebrows and scoffed. Sometimes he scared people right out of his way, but Beau was’t a buyer, he was a past and potential employee. He was still on the hiree list in case he was needed in the future. Ulysses had a lot of bad history with clients or workers, but if they had something to offer he needed to make sure they stuck around if he ever needed them again. Now that he no longer had a reason to kill the Frenchman, things could go back to what they were before- just no more damn loans.

“You’re joking,” Ulysses said. Sevigny shook his head slowly. There were things Ulysses didn’t know that drove him to cut ties.

He didn’t know that Sevigny’s team was important to him, that he hid their existence from Klaue during Bangkok.

He didn’t know that Sevigny mentally beat himself up that Slate or Remedy could’ve died that night because of his mistake.

“We should just end it here- no more transactions, no more favors, no more jobs,” Sevigny said, then he held out his hand for a handshake. A final handshake. A laugh slipped from Ulysses lips that he spouted, then cackled with his head back. The old man had to be kidding; with the way things were now? The markets? The crackdowns on people like them?

“I certainly won’t rely on you to pay me back anymore, frog, but _you’ll_  still be the one needing me. Your heisting is plummeting, scattered even. But don’t worry, when something pops up that I can’t readily steal myself, I’ll call you in. Don’t give me that look- your treatments will work when they’re all finished and permanently in your system.” Ulysses gestured out to nothing in particular.

“That’s why you’re here right? You needed my money to get better so you can work, and now you’re better so you can work.”

“Not for you, specifically,” Sevigny piped, thick brows narrowed. Ulysses chuckled again and stood up, coming near in height to the Frenchman. He smiled when the mutant took a step back. The machine clicked again.

“You’ll be on standby. Just keep that in mind, ja?” Ulysses reached out and slapped a firm hold on the old man’s right shoulder, making sure he wouldn’t move again. He explained that they still needed to stick together to keep the money running despite their differences in what they handled. Ulysses dealt weapons for profit, often paid directly. Sevigny’s only depended on whether he could sell what he stole. Now that he learned their was a team under the man, that meant bigger jobs. Both had connections that interwove their social circles, referencing one or the other and in spite of the recent payment issue, time bound them. Leaving wasn’t a simple option and if anyone called that shot it was Ulysses.

Sevigny patted the hand on his shoulder, annoyed at the gesture.

“I’m not as unemployed as you think I am, Klaue.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either. Ulysses went back to counting and the numbers tallied up on point. The debt was officially paid and they could finally move past this. He considered giving Sevigny a breather anyhow, at least until his last treatment. Acknowledging things were done, but still peeved by their conversation, the older man swirled into a golden cloud and filed out the window, disappearing. The dogs started barking again, eventually yowling into the hot night air.

* * *

 

 

 

He had to convert the euros into rands the following week to pay the laborers scrapping junk yards, old airfields, and such. After Sevigny’s visit, things seemed to fly by in a rush that Ulysses preferred. Christmas seemed to drive everyone’s wallets to the hellgate, leaving little for him. It depeneded on the person, but business still slowed for a little bit. Christmas wasn’t something he usually celebrated unless it was in a club with lots of alcohol and people who loved to be entertained by his wild Wakandan stories. Even then, he worked through the night to stay ahead of lowly competitors. New Year’s reminded him he was getting older, not really the start of anything new. It wasn’t like fiscal slates were wiped clean, everything either took a sharp jump or dive. It seemed after the holidays rushed in and out materials were coming back, but it still wasn’t enough.

All the mishaps going about brought on by mutant freak powers or just “gifted” individuals piled up on news stations. Conspiracy theories, high damage value, donations were strained between fixing up one city to another. Homeowners, major chains, investors of property still being built wanted to be paid out, but insurances didn’t exactly offer ‘destruction by freak-of-nature.’ He paid attention to a variety of court hearings about what to do with all the upheaval. NATO, United Nations, a variety of news channels all with their bias; at least Colbert was humorous.

Then as if a switch was flicked, things calmed down. In the back of his head, he knew it would round again. Everything was a cycle- he used this to his advantage with paranoid figures. Even with their voices changers helping them out over the lines, Ulysses always tracked down who he was dealing with. Identities weren’t safe and the finicky ones had to learn.

Can’t protect your people? Your assets? He had something for that. Don't let it be too late.

Who knows when havoc will strike again? No one does, but it still will. You should be prepared.

Some made his job easier having gone down the road with him before. He smiled with the few who rattled off orders like a take-out menu. Part way into the new year money was flowing, yet the materials were still an issue. Scrapping only got so far and mining was tricky; he had to payoff officials for raw material right out of the mines. When officials changed, he had to go through his dominating routine all over again. It took longer to cart things out of the ground than to melt them down from an already processed machine.

One client caught his attention with a collateral he could actually do something with; short range seekers for a British ship that had run its course. He'd been in the military and had access to the old ship. The potential parts to scrounge and melt would be enough to hold him over for a while. Updated designs were already swirling in his brain. The order was put, he flew to one of his warehouses in Mzambique to make sure the missiles were loaded correctly and covered from any scanners. When Ulysses oversaw things himself, workers were much less likely to make mistakes.

Like every new year, you blinked and it was halfway over. It was April’s time to tick by. The constant computer screens and scanning numbers wore him out, but he didn’t want to relax. There was never enough money coming in and he wanted more. Despite his age he was a constant noisy battery, ordering workers about if not retouching his weapons’ designs or conversing trade online or by phone. When Ulysses was finally notified the Churchill was grounded, he felt an excitement for its potential and it overwhelmed him into a rare glee. He packed up the essentials he’d need to bunker down while hauling out the ship; monitors, weapons, back up generators, waste control, and given the time it’d take he might as well stash a large portion of his vibranium. With his men, he rode in armored trucks to their new worksite overnight, watching the red sun rise over the sea. It was his personal belongings that gave him an inner conflict; not his account logs or target files, payroll or a comedic movie or two. The pictures of his last love slowed him down, he knew it. Even for him, it was hard not to bring the few he had left.

Instantaneously when he saw the inside of the ship, he felt a tringe of disappointment. He tried not to let it kill his mood, but it was nothing like he had wanted or was promised to begin with. Workers had already begun cutting into its compartments with a vigorous fear brought on by his current right hand, Yasheen. The tall dark man had an unwavering loyalty that kept through the years and the way he commanded his workers reassured Ulysses the job was done.

But the ship was shit.

His disappointment fell hard into a rage that boiled under his skin. It wasn’t long before there were public outbursts over rusted parts. He shot groups who damaged what could actually be used, accident or not. And for the next several days, he watched from his claimed office, leaning against the window with a crinkled nostril. The more they took out of the ship, the worse it became. Once again he was screwed over.

“Don’t tell me your man swindled you, I sent you six short-range heatseekers and got a boat full of rusted parts. Now, you will make it right or the _next_ missile I send to you, will come very much faster.” He punched the line closed, switched over to a waiting caller and slightly changed his tone. He needed other work to make up for this.

“Now, minister, where were we.”

He hardly uttered the last word when the power cut out.

 

* * *

 

 

“Rush to a hospitaal! Gun dit!” Yasheen shouted at Limbani. How Yasheen made it out of the ship was a mystery; he was first to file in to shoot the Avengers. Ulysses stumbled out of his ship after a majority of the confrontation took place, but the tall man came back and he came back bloody. Yasheen took his remaining arm around his shoulders and loaded them both into the truck, now yelling at Limbani. The lurching of the vehicle almost made Ulysses vomit. Limbani sped across the wet sand, jumping banks and rocking their bodies hard from the impacts. Yasheen kept yelling directions in his mother tongue while he raised what was left of Ulysses’ arm to divert blood flow. It was cauterized above where his elbow should be, the very end black from charred skin and muscle. They could still feel the heat radiating from it.

Ulysses was gripping the front passenger seat hard with his remaining hand, face contorted into rage and pain as he fought his body’s screaming instinct to give into the trauma. No one grabbed the severed arm, the goddamn robot was the last to have it. Fucking Tony Stark and his creations and all his meddling comrades. Limbani hit the break hard and they all braced as the truck skid to a loud stop. Rubber burned and smoke flowed as the three stared at the destruction of trees and roads, ground turned up in craters and various other drivers caught up in the destruction.

“The hell?” Limbani muttered.

“ _Turn on the radio_ ,” Ulysses seethed. Limbani fumbled the buttons until static popped, he corrected it and they listened to a live reporting of a giant green monstrosity tearing through the south-east portion of Africa and into Johannesburg. Limbani wiped his face.

“What do we-”

“FUCK!” Ulysses screamed and punched the passenger seat over and over while cursing until the headrest was bent and broken off out of his fit of rage. Yasheen warned him he’d pass out and Ulysses could feel his head growing heavy with anger and he was ready to explode. If he could it'd be enough to cover all the way back to the ship and take his enemies with him.

“HEAD TO LUDERITZ!” At his screaming Limbani scurried the clutch into reverse and spun back around, changing gears so quick they grinded loud and screeched. If the Hulk was going to destroy the city, hospitals and clinics around it were going to influx from casualties. That thing was more than capable of destroying the entire city.

“Sir...that’s a day’s flight,” Yasheen said wearily. Ulysses shook him off his wounded arm and growled.

“ _Make it faster_.”

He passed out once on the way to Namibia and it was during takeoff; he was too lightheaded for the pressure. When they set down later that night Ulysses had a flurry of his men rushing him into a vehicle and speeding to the coastal home where his house call doctor had been waiting for hours. If he wasn’t cursing enough before he was now, as his mind processed that his arm was gone and yet somehow he could still feel it there.

His doctor, a small old man with dark skin, no hair and lentigo worked as fast and as calmly as he could. The remainder of Ulysses’ left arm was inflamed and the burnt portion needed to be cleaned and disinfected. His right was constricted with a couple IV’s; one for a drip and the other for pain killers. They weren’t working. His doctor upped the dosage and while it took away the edge Ulysses still swore he felt his fingers.

“Give him something else!” Yasheen barked. He had yet to clean the blood off his face and it stained his clothes all the way down to his shoes. The small doctor shook his head nervously.

“There is already too much in his system; he will overdose!” It still wasn’t enough and Ulysses growled in pain, his head lolling as he tried to breathe through it. Something wasn’t right about his arm because it wasn’t there anymore. It was like a fire and a hammer all in one; he kept trying to move his fingers that weren’t there. Muscles in his bicep flexed and he jolted. The doctor went to check him again, but to his shock Ulysses grabbed the small man’s neck with his right hand and squeezed. Eyes bloodshot and black curls sticking to his forehead, he tilted his head to one side as he watched the doctor choke. Old hands clasped onto Ulysses’ wrist and one of his needles was rising out of its vein. Blood trickled out in a very thin line.

“ _I still feel it_ ,” he hissed. “ _Do something, or..._ ” He squeezed harder. The doctor’s eyes widened and he stared up at the harsh lighting on the ceiling. Ulysses watched until there was just enough awareness in the man's eyes before letting go, watching as the doctor coughed a fit for air.  The small man backed away and asked for Yasheen’s help with the phantom limb.

“Y-you’re nerve endings are s-still sending signals to and from your arm,” he stuttered and looked between the two men. He was rubbing his throat and he strained to talk.

“To stop them, the wound must be impacted, grounded even, with a fist...it's just you’re wound is cauterized. I-it is better to wait until that heals over.” The drugs weren't working. If nerves were the problem, then everything else could heal after. Ulysses and Yasheen looked at one another, pausing. He knew Yasheen would do it, he just wanted permission because this shit was going to hurt. Ulysses couldn’t wait for the burnt site to heal to handle this; that would take at two weeks if not longer. He was doing it now.

The doctor fixed the needle in his arm and a mound of leather was found for Ulysses to bite. There was no definite routine for when the pain would stop, but he was supposed to know when he no longer felt his arm or it lessened to a bearable pain level. The doctor couldn’t say how long it would take, but Ulysses didn’t care. He didn’t want a countdown or a clock. He nodded to Yasheen to start.*

* * *

 

 

The following days Ulysses wreathed between aching pain and odd sensations. On top of that he kept up with the news and watched with bitterness at the destruction of Sokovia due to Stark and his robot toy. The doctor switched medicines until they had better results to dull his nerves. The site needed to heal from the burn. It was cleaned three times a day and wrapped in petroleum soaked bandages. The grinding somewhat worked; the pain wasn’t as intense. Instead Ulysses felt like his arm was torqued and his palm was itching. He had cramping that woke him up at night even through his drug induced sleep. It irritated the hell out of him and he was constantly cursing between languages, threatening his doctor, or yelling at helpless associates who tried to get him to eat. People started drawing straws to take care of his arm.

On top of the medicine and phantom limb, he struggled with his balance. The first time he stood up to use the bathroom on his own he leaned so far right, he hit the wall and slid down. He still wanted to keep up with his work, but every time he thought about it the rotten ship came to mind and he replayed the whole scene in his head with Ultron. His holdings were the only thing that gave him relief in the night when he lay awake, breathing through the phantom limb. A therapist was brought in to help him rebalance his gait. The old nag kept cautioning him to go slow and take it easy on too bad of a day; he pulled his gun and shot her in the hallway. Another therapist came in unwillingly, rarely spoke but corrected Ulysses where needed very, very timidly.

The doctor began other treatments to help dull his phantom limb. The injections worked for the stump pain. For the sensations he had to go through desensitization methods along with a mirror box, then fitted stump socks to help with fitting for future prosthetics.

“I don’t want Terminator looking shit,” Ulysses muttered.

“Find the best, find the latest.”

His doctor pulled in options and while they were great for any regular individual they did not last Ulysses’ rage when testing them. Nothing responded right, nothing looked right or felt right. Nothing was an appropriate arm. Nothing made him happy.

 

* * *

 

 

It downpoured outside and the rain whacked against the windows. Ulysses flung open the door to his office and slammed it shut, fresh blood on his bdu shirt and pants. He scratched his temple, gun still in hand. He shot the second therapist, finding no more use for him now that the prosthetics were a failure and his body had adjusted to walking. His back muscles ached from the compensation, but this was nothing to him. The room was lit by a couple of matching lamps in a couple corners of the room, bookcases lined the walls with texts. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat here and read just for the hell of it. Leisure was such a far away idea despite his new billionaire status. He couldn’t enjoy any part of it, not now.

Churchill still pissed him off and he wasn’t able to get a hold of the client responsible. Probably smart on their end, because by now instead of just fixing the trade Ulysses wanted him to suffer. He wanted to cause an insurmountable damage against the man; no one got away ripping him off. There were new contacts online that were asking him for supplies ever since Sokovia happened, but there were no materials. There was limited vibranium, not enough for anything significant for a country. He’d been out of the game for almost a month to recover. It felt longer.

He placed the gun on his desk, made himself a drink, and sat in one of the leather chairs near the light. Staring into the darkness he drank, listening to the rain, the ticking of an old clock on one of the bookshelves, and mulled. No one bothered him for a while and utterly alone he allowed a look of grief to sweep across his face gazing at the wrapped stump of his arm. He was tougher than this, he’d seen this happen many times- but it still got to him.

“The fok am I going to do for this shit,” he muttered, setting his glass down to rub his hand over his face. His eyes were glassy.

“Every single one, every _single_ one can’t keep up with me.” He talked to himself gesturing to his arm. Something needed to withstand his force while working with his body, like an actual arm. Useful, not just for the purpose of appearing he wasn't mutilated.

“I’m better off making-” He paused for a while, then stood up quickly. He never designed a prosthetic limb before, but had an idea and it was taking shape, growing. A design or two, prototypes, final draft. Mechanical workings, wires, receptors, a port to connect- a weapon. He yanked his phone out from his back pocket in an odd manner, almost fumbling it. It hardly finished its first ring before being answered.

“Sir?” Limbani answered.

“Pack a bag, we're going to Germany.”

“Yes boss.”

In a hurry, Ulysses changed clothes and grabbed a premade carrier bag and hauled it over his good shoulder. He barked at a few men whilst leaving, some of them lining at the house and others hopping into the truck he was taking. Limbani was at the driver’s seat adjusting the rearview mirror. From the driveway Ulysses directed attention to his doctor, who was in the middle of smoking a cigarette with a shaky hand. He stared nervously at Ulysses, a look that was terrified and expected a kill order.

“Pay that man and send him home,” Ulysses shouted with a smile. His mood had lifted and the timid old guy did treat him after all. What was left over of his condition Ulysses could take care of himself. Limbani drove off the property and through the coastal town, the rain lifting the closer they got to the airfield. This time Ulysses sat in the co-pilot seat with his workman, a couple of his hirees sat in the back. Taking off, Ulysses was giddy with his new idea and couldn’t wait to start his first prototype for his arm. More than an arm, something more useful. Maybe because he was so doped earlier up he couldn’t think clearly, but now cogs were turning and his head was loud.

 

* * *

***** I had a psychology professor in college, Dr. Dreary, who had to interview an amputee in a clinic ward about five, maybe six decades ago. The man complained his limb hurt even though it wasn't there- I don't remember if it was the leg or arm. My professor watched in horror as a nurse repeatedly ground her fist into the man's stub despite his agony until he was relieved from the pain. At the time other methods weren't available to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~(o.o)~ Thank you for de comments; makes me feel better putting this story out.

In the old Victorian home a kettle steamed loud from the kitchen. Working at the small table, Sevigny stood while reading his tablet, glasses shifting down his nose as he squinted at the text. He moved the kettle over to the next burner and the kettle quieted. He murmured words to himself as he fixed himself breakfast. Bacon and eggs benedict. He placed a bowl of fruit down then sat, pouring himself tea into a small glass cup. It was a calm morning and birds chirped outside. He was the only one there today, the other three were out working. Slate was anyhow, having secured a couple low-level hits in the northern part of the country. Min and Zeke were having another outing after finishing a job in Malaysia. He didn’t expect them back for another couple of days.

“I suppose your company shall do in place of everyone,” Sevigny spoke as he cut his bacon, looking down at the teacup pig sitting by the leg of the table. It looked back up at him, tilting its head and making weird grunting noises. He almost put the bacon in his mouth, but now he felt judged. Glancing between it and the pet, he into a runny egg instead. Min brought the pig home not long after Remmy left. The first few weeks it did nothing but run and squeal, getting stuck in small holes in the floor, holes in the wall, or just tumbling down the stairs like a horrible squeak toy. It was funny at first, then it wasn’t. The most annoying part were its hooves clicking on the warped wood all day long. It also followed him everywhere when Min wasn’t around. It liked to push its nose against his shoes while he worked, sometimes biting them.

Sevigny’s business phone rang on the table, an unknown number popping up. He only saved the names of banks, past clients, and workmen, but it wasn’t unusual for mystery numbers to call.

“Hello?”

“I’m coming ta visit,” a familiar voice chimed from the other side. Sevigny hadn’t heard Ulysses’ voice in some time, it made him hesitate. He’d been waiting for a contact since their meeting late last year, but nothing ever came through. He really wanted it to stay that way.

“Do...do you need directions?” Sevigny asked. He was remote enough to begin with and Ulysses never visited him.

“Nah, I just hit the gravel.” On cue he heard an engine outside and the birds near the window flew away. Min’s pig perked his tiny head around and then started doing circles for no reason. Sevigny stood pondering his next move, but decided to greet Klaue at the door. Before he even reached the foyer both doors were kicked open, a gleeful Klaue bounding in with a bag over his right shoulder and another in his right hand. His left one was set weird by his side. Sevigny scrutinized it after removing his readers, but when Klaue got closer he looked him in the eye.

“Glad you’re home, I have a lot to go over with you-” Klaue sneezed sudden and loud. He blinked.

“Goddamn, when was the last time you dusted?” he glanced around when he noticed the open doors lit up the room and there was dust spiraling everywhere. Then he noticed everything else about the place, how it was broken, warped, shot up and aged. He raised a brow at Sevigny.

“Does time move here old man?”

Sevigny pushed his comment aside, motioning for him to follow. He felt his stomach grumble when he turned into the old office, trying to process this so early. Before he could ask any questions, he realized Klaue had stopped at the threshold, still holding the bags. He peered down the corridor with a curious look on his face.

“Were you eating?”

“It _is_ seven in the morning.”

“Ah, finish eating, I’ll talk at the table.” He walked into the kitchen before Sevigny could turn around. A nice breeze came in through the open doors and Sevigny thought the better of it; Remmy used to do some of the cleaning. When she did, doors and windows were opene- if they didn’t stick that was. Coming back to the kitchen, he found Ulysses grinning down at the pig, talking to it in Afrikaans like one would a puppy. Min’s pig was at his feet making noises while repeatedly backing up and forward, tail wiggling.

“Killing baby pigs for bacon, frog,” Ulysses ticked his tongue. “I didn’t think you were that dark.” He dropped his bags altogether. It frightened the little ham into a squeal, sending it running out the kitchen on slipping hooves. Sevigny scoffed and moved for the tea kettle, intending to pour Klaue a cup- as was customary for guests no matter how uninvited.

“Aah, I prefer coffee. Black.” Ulysses took a seat at the other end of the table, dropping a thin phone on the surface. Sevigny grunted and started the pot maker, scrambling through Slate’s packets of dark roasted coffee. He gave Klaue the left over pieces from the frying pan while it brewed and once done the old man finally sat down to finish his food. He noticed Ulysses was really favoring his right arm, rushing through his meal like he hadn’t eaten in days. He didn’t look like he slept either. Before Sevigny could ask, the man started talking with his mouth half full.

“I have a job for you and all your little underlings,” he started, swirling his finger at the mention of underlings.

“Most of my men are bodyguards, combat men hired to kill, but this one needs different people- your line of work, really. Think of it as a collaboration; I’ll have my guys and you’ll have yours. We both get a turnout from it- you’ll have potential profit and I’ll get my fucking message across.” As he talked Sevigny watched him from behind the rim of his cup. Ulysses shoved another forkfull in his mouth. _Potential_ profit?

“Your message?” Sevigny asked.

“It’s a client turned target, really. I’ve got his assets scoped out and he is loaded, about as much as me, but he needs to be reminded who he’s dealing with. And you’re going to help.” He pointed at Sevigny, then drank his coffee, fork clattering loudly on the little dish so he could use his hand. Between gulps Klaue caught him staring and smiled. With a twist and click, he popped off his arm and dropped it on the table. The dishes clattered.

“Jesu Grist,” Sevigny reeled back at the arm. In the light he could see just how artificial the “skin” was and a weird thin strip ran down the forearm. He looked at where Klaue’s arm was supposed to be.

“That’s just a prototype, waiting on some high class pieces to come in. They’re small as shit, but expensive. I’ll show you the finished piece when it’s ready; I can’t _wait_ to try it out.” The glee on his face paralleled hard to their previous meeting. This was a hype. He hadn’t seen this since Bangkok, before the Avengers and people like himself became more open about their powers.

Perhaps Klaue noticed he was the only one talking and Sevigny’s expression gave him away. Klaue paused, still smiling, but he turned the fake arm over in his one hand. He talked about the ship, about Tony Stark and Ultron, and glossed over any part of recovery from his lost arm. Sevigny listened intently about the twins Strucker experimented on, remembering the man died about a month ago. The news came discreetly through the underground and had caused him both relief and fear. Strucker was very high on the international wanted list.

The robot, though, Sevigny wouldn’t have guessed Klaue crossed paths with him. He remembered the constant updated news stories about Sokovia and the wreckage that was brought from Stark’s creations. It followed close after the Hulk destroyed most of Johannesburg, at which point Sevigny believed Klaue left the place entirely after Die Senuwee.

But what stood out just as much as Klaue losing his arm was him selling practically all his vibranium.

“Ulysses,” Sevigny started slowly. “You are a beyond rich now, why even bother with...what’s his face.” He was talking about the Churchill client, but Klaue never said a name so he just flicked his fingers in the air to emphasize. Klaue put the arm back on, clicking it on what looked like a metallic port before turning it into place. The grinning man looked back at him, a little vindictive.

“It’s not about the money.” His voice dropped. “No one screws me on a deal and expects no repercussions...ja know this, frog.” He pointed directly at Sevigny, then scraped the last bits of his food on the plate. His appetite faded remembering Slate and Remmy coming back from Johannesburg. The anger Slate held, Remmy’s betrayed eyes and the bullet skim on her cheek.  Honestly, Sevigny didn’t want this job, but with the state Klaue was in saying no would cause more problems. The man was already dead set on this way before he pulled into the driveway; he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

 

Because the office was so cluttered and disorganized, they stayed in the kitchen for Ulysses to explain everything. It didn’t stop Sevigny from visiting a bottle at his desk and mentally prepare himself for whatever was coming his way. Ulysses had two laptops booted up and a wide flat tablet laid on the table. He tapped the edges of it several times before a green hologram glitched to life in the center of the table. One laptop popped up with a black screen, but was recording numbers every so often. The other was an open format page; Sevigny had no idea what either of these were for. 

Ulysses talked rapidly as he described the target. A picture popped up and floated in the space above the table. Bradley H. Phillip Jr. A strong faced man with brown hair, narrow eyes, and a clean-shaved face. The only jewelry he wore was a golden watch on his right wrist and a wedding band. There were lists about past education, jobs, and history in the military. Sevigny noticed it was brief, but he came out rather high ranking. In a separate part of the screen were a few bank account numbers with their balances, updating to keep up with what he was moving. His social media accounts were purely political perpetuating wild propaganda.

Then there were different photos, ones not meant for the public eye. Different locations from beautiful beaches to questionable dark rooms. Women changed in nearly every shot, but they all wore expensive dangling body jewelry from head to toe.

“You plan to deface him?” Sevigny raised a brow.

Ulysses grinned and rolled his eyes. “Later, maybe. That type of thing goes away after a while and no one really cares.” Ulysses nose wrinkled. “People will yell and point their fingers, then forget about it. Politically, he might be scathed, but his father left him a large jewelry chain that pleases too many customers.” Ulysses tapped a couple keys on the touch screen and various stores popped up in England. His fingers shook a little.

Jewelry heisting, a field that Sevigny dealt with often. Junior owned a few large brand jewelry stores in England. They were spread out far from each other, though. 

“If we span everyone out it can work. I need all of them shot up or something- set on fire, mostly.” Ulysses scrolled through several pictures until he came to a larger storefront.

“This one I want ransacked before demolishing it; it’s the first store of the business and higher in value. This is where I want your team,” Klaue said. “I’ll have my men throw the others into a frenzy and keep the police busy while you and your lot take care of this.”

Sevigny couldn’t even get a question in. Klaue kept talking.

“You’ll need to get an armored bank truck. Your driver’s driven one? Doesn’t matter, he can learn. Or she. Whichever- Limbani could probably teach ‘em, but look- one like that. Load everything into that then head for Tower Bridge. We’ll switch the truck over here with another- something less conspicuous but fast- then ride out of the city without being tracked. You follow me, ja? I need quickness, I need people who work together on this one. Yours click well when they work?”

“Yes, bu-”

“Good good- you can tell me about them. I need a uh...uh,” Klaue snapped his fingers as he looked around him, eyeing his bags as if he had forgotten something. He dug in one and pulled out a small pill bottle, popped the cap open and knocked his head back. He’d been talking so much Sevigny kept watching the screens and hadn’t noticed the sweat on his guest’s brow.

Klaue crunched the pills in his teeth like candy and swallowed, tossing the bottle carelessly back in the bag. He sighed in relief, rubbing his one hand on his leg in a hurry, looking up at the green holograms.

“It’s still rough, but I’ll mold it out soon. Better once I have an idea of your people.” Klaue gestured to the screens. Sevigny eyed them, still taking in what was going on. All the information present on just one man made him wonder what and how Ulysses got access to anything. The man was brilliant, scary, and apparently had people everywhere to get what he asked for.

“I don’t have anything like _that_ , and it makes me wonder what you have on me.” And the others, too. Ulysses grunted and typed Sevigny’s name into a laptop; a younger picture appeared from the early 2000’s. There was also a  blurry photo shot of him walking around in Paris obscured by a hat. There wasn’t a lot of personal information, but his connections to prior robberies were listed which was what drove his wanted status. His dossier was poor.

“The thing is Junior wants to be seen, you don’t. Your people aren’t as open either, I’m guessing. Go ahead, give me a name.”

Sevigny hesitated.

“Slate,” he said. Ulysses’ face fell; it was obvious he didn’t like the mutant. He typed it in anyhow and among a few other people who had the same name he picked the young man’s picture out from the group. There was even less information on him than Sevigny and his real name was unknown, which was a relief because in the beginning it had been a struggle to bury it.

“Water pressure manipulation?” Ulysses asked. “How far of a reach does he have?”

Sevigny contemplated the truth, for Slate’s sake he should lie about the thirty foot limit. He figured Ulysses wouldn’t need to rely too much on the ability during a heist anyhow. It’d keep the two further apart from each other.

“Around fifty six, given what’s around him. Pipes, hydrants, a water bottle sometimes works.” He smiled when Ulysses snorted. He shared that Slate’s other skills were closer to combat; he was more useful when apprehended or outnumbered. Ulysses asked for another name.

“My driver is Ezekiel Halls, but we call him Zeke. He’s a mechanical engineer from Birmingham. He’s driven everything from Oldsmobiles to Vauxhall, a good amount of vehicles from Japan and America. Busses, ambulances, cop cars, and at one time a fire truck.” A photo popped up of Zeke and Ulysses paused to read records underneath. Most of it related to grand theft auto and speeding. There were too many photos and videos of Zeke running lights through various cities to scroll through, but he noticed one consecutive thing.

“He looks freaked out in every one of these shots,” Ulysses said. Sevigny rubbed the back of his neck with a faint smile.

“He has high-functioning anxiety. Zeke spazzes out a lot, but you just need to let him do his thing. He has never failed a drive,” Sevigny answered quickly. The funny stories he had, but wouldn’t tell. The arms dealer was already scrutinizing. Sevigny moved him on to Min. When her photos popped up, Ulysses’ brows furrowed. It probably had to do with why she smiled with masks on, but was stoic in photos that caught her whole face. When he read her ability aloud, he laughed.

“Induces lust with a smile? There is a power for everything...”

“It’s really not a funny thing,” Sevigny said. “It’s bad enough being fetishized as a young Asian woman who looks like a child… We don’t really know what to call it and it doesn’t matter if it’s a photo or recorded video, gender or sexual orientation in general. People stop and become instantly attracted. The longer she’s smiling at them, the stronger it gets.” Sevigny didn’t send Min alone anywhere and if she ever took her mask off, there had to be no more than two people in a room. At one point she tried negotiations with him, but even with the mask on people didn’t let her be. Both of them ended up killing people.

Ulysses’ face became a little intrigued as he scrolled snapped sightings of her. The alias “Smiley” kept popping up a lot.

“But,” Sevigny continued. “She’s noticed it doesn’t work on anyone younger than twenty one and if someone is in love. Those are the only exceptions,” Sevigny said. He wouldn’t tell that her ability helped her get information; people told her anything she asked of them. A snuffling was heard in the hall. The pig cautiously walked back in, nose in the air sniffing. It’s annoying hooves clicked when it hurried to Sevigny’s shoes and started pacing circles around him, going under the chair clockwise. Sevigny stood up to make himself more tea and it followed him, constantly looking up and sniffling.

“What about the other one?” Ulysses asked. Sevigny paused while adding sugar and turned to see Ulysses staring at him.

“You shot him, remember?” Sevigny knew he meant Remmy, but he tried to direct it back to Jace. Of course Ulysses wasn’t stupid and made a look.

“You know who I mean; the other woman.” He gestured to the screen. Sevigny didn’t answer right away and took his time getting to his seat. The pig followed and plopped on its belly at his feet. He had to be careful about Remmy since she left, as much as he wanted her to come back. His accounts were accurate now, but everything else in general was clustered and out of place. Being heistmen and mercenaries didn’t matter much here; he knew everyone missed her and she left a different type of hole in the house.

“She retired.” Sevigny took a drink. Ulysses snorted in disbelief.

“She seemed a little young to retire.”

“Well she did, not too long after meeting you actually.” The way Ulysses reacted wasn’t warranted, using his hand to gesture to himself and smiling.

“Did I scare the poor thing that bad?”

“Remedy planned on it for a while, you were just her last job.” He had come to regret giving her that job that night, but had he sent Min, the young woman wouldn’t have made it back. Had he just sent Slate, the mutant would be dead and so would he. If only he’d been a little healthier, or stable like now, that mishap never would’ve happened. 

Ulysses slowly typed in her first name, eyeing it with a head tilt. He waited for her last name. Sevigny shook his head.

“She rarely worked with us. Remmy stayed here a lot and did the paperwork.”

“And she retired from that?” Ulysses watched him and he could tell he was figuring things out in his head, that Remedy meant something to him and he didn’t want to share anything else with Ulysses, like back in Africa when she was brought up. Min’s wellbeing and Slate’s temper already needed to be looked after. The most Sevigny could do was undersell Remedy as a necessity.

“If _I_ was her last job, then she hasn’t been gone too long. You already said she helped, was she good at it?”

Sevigny shook his head no. A tense silence stretched between the two men, their eyes meeting, both gazes firm and unwavering. Both knew it was a lie.

“Hm,” Ulysses grunted, then smiled small. He wasn’t angry, but there was irritation in his body language. He did come all the way to recruit Beau personally. His phone beeped with a message, but he pushed it to the side. Sevigny watched the cursor blink after Remedy’s name on the hologram; it glitched again. Ulysses continued.

“This is a big job, frog. You have yourself and three people- one I’m mostly convinced won’t cooperate because he’s a little shit.” Ulysses threw his hand out with a shrug of his shoulders. “All that responsibility falls on you, so I’ll let it be your choice whether you bring her or not.”

Sevigny’s fingers tightened around his cup.

“Slate will cooperate.”

“He screwed up the last one; could’ve been a lot worse honestly.”

“No, I’m the one responsible for that-” Sevigny stopped talking and Ulysses grinned at him. The point was made, but Sevigny couldn’t let himself start to think that he actually needed Remedy’s help for this. He missed her; she made things easier. She helped with Slate, despite the two always feuding like siblings. She covered for anybody, really, but to bring her back, even for a little bit...

“Think about it,” Ulysses said and stood up to stretch his legs. He took his phone in hand, read his message then called up someone as he walked out of the kitchen. His Dutch was angry and loud in the hallway. Sevigny closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. The wrath of an unpredictable mind felt imminent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My sleep schedule has been a mess, but I have successfully been converted from seasonal employee to permanent. Yaaaaaas~
> 
> My back hurts.
> 
> Where are my pain pills.
> 
> I am old.
> 
> -blurhahurling in background-
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t have a set updating time frame. I apologize in advance for long waiting.

 

The transition was exciting, but had its bumps. She’d be lying to say it wasn’t stressful. While she’d live in Seoul before, there was still some culture shock to go through. Especially when the holidays hit close together; Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year. Remedy spent them alone in her small apartment, her only company were the fish in the oversized tank. Work was strange because she was used to hiding her face whenever she was out in public. She kept forgetting she didn’t need to do that anymore. Her coworkers were friendly. Overfriendly, maybe. There were a few who were sceptical of her, but she ignored them. No one’s judgement was harder than Slate’s- months passed and she still replayed their last conversation in her head. Well into April, she’d still wake up with a start from old memories turned nightmares; they ranged from her first shootout all the way up to Klaue, and they’d leave her up all night debating to turn on her old work phone- the one for Sevigny, just in case.

She felt like a hypocrite, knowing she expressed such a desire to leave everything about her crime life behind, but being alone in the large city as a foreigner, she clung to her old job as a safety net ready to deploy. Remedy kept telling herself she needed more time to adjust, three months wasn’t enough. Then five months wasn’t enough. The only thing that calmed her down was sitting with the children in the agency, matching them to eager couples either in the nation or international, and seeing the happiness on a parent’s face. It gave her a feeling she didn’t get before, a good feeling that came with helping people find something they struggled to get, and with that same feeling she eventually learned to enjoy Seoul again. She started to push her old home further down in her head, trying to really move on.

When she heard about Johannesburg, it turned her palms clammy to think the Hulk abolished everything. Then Sokovia happened. She was walking down the hall with files in hand when her coworkers turned up the television in the lobby. People gathered under it, covering their mouths and gasping. When Remedy herself saw a complete city floating in the sky and then dropping, she was stunned. The stories ranged between news stations, but the one constant thing was the death toll and the misplaced families; parents who couldn’t find their children and vice versa. It was a disaster- and whatever the fuck happened with the “superhero” team to land such an effect, she wasn’t satisfied with how they handled it after. Sokovia lit a fire inside, the kind that smoldered into a grudge against the world's superheroes.

* * *

 

 

“Your referral has been accepted,” Remedy said with a smile, phone to her ear. She could hear the excitement on the other side coming from the married couple. She waited for them to calm down some, before listing their next steps in their adoption process.

“Placement can take up to 12-18 months, sometimes two years; I understand it’s a long time, but the child you’ve selected will be waiting for you.” They had to finalize guardianship, file a few more papers to visit South Korea for a few weeks, and an immigrant visa had to be set up so their son would be a citizen by the time they took him home to the United States.

“We will keep you up to date on Ji-hun... yes. You can always reach us for further instructions or if there is an issue in paperwork… I can give you my direct line now and I can also send you an email.”

Her workspace was small and she shared it with another woman depending on their schedules. It was cramped, but always clean and tidy. A card holder on the desk carried cards for both of them in both Korean and English. Remedy’s name wasn’t on them.

“Thank you so much Miss Noh; you’ve made our day! We are so excited-” Remedy smiled, nodding along. They ended the call on a good note; the wait for the referral was always nerve wracking for couples. The next hard step was the wait to actually bring the child home.

 

Nighttime was her favorite part about the city because it lit up in a different beauty. Remedy often enjoyed viewing the market on her way home, sometimes buying little things to decorate with. Most often she picked up a boba or a cupcake before getting on the subway. She stood in the center, hanging onto one of the support poles. She checked her emails, the echo of people’s headphones and quiet chatter barely filled the compartment. Districts passed by outside the windows, sometimes the blaring horn of a vehicle was heard.

 

**A withdrawl of ￦100000.00.00 has posted to your account (Donation2/***0010) to SOKOVIA DISASTER RELIEF FUNDING SLSK 5/22/2015 at 10:23:04 AM. If you do not recognize this transaction please-**

 

Remedy moved the email to a specific folder, biting the inside of her cheek. She had set up monthly donations, this was her second in the same month. Right after it happened she dropped money on it. Her initial deposit was much larger, coming from her saved stash with her old job. Currently, her pay was good, but not enough to keep up the same number for the rest of the year. She looked up briefly to watch the city in the windows, then glanced back down to see a text come in. There was no number, it simply said unknown. She stared at it, her face falling. Her thumb twitched between tapping it open to swiping it away, she wasn’t quite sure. Glancing around her as discreet as possible, she decided to wait until she was off the subway. She walked fast from the station, out on the streets towards her building complex, nervously tapping the sides of her phone with her nails. She made excuses to avoid looking at it; wait until off the subway, wait until in the street, wait until near the building, wait until at the building.

She was in the elevator to her floor when she finally opened it.

_I need to talk to you. -B.S._

 

Hesitantly, she replied just after walking out of the doors.

_When?_

 

Her phone beeped immediately.

_Now. Please._

 

Remedy cursed too loud, startling herself. Once in her apartment, she tossed her phone on the table and locked the door with its chain and bolt. She kept the lights off, but the fish tank lit the room in blue. Remedy peered through her sliding glass doors, expecting to see him sitting in her chair waiting to let him in. Sevigny slowly looked up, old flip phone in one hand. A mixture of emotions met in her chest- annoyance, relief, then dread. She unlocked the sliding door and moved to the kitchen, flipping on the light over the sink. She poured water into a steel kettle. He came inside, but he was quiet. Glancing in the microwave, she saw him glancing around her apartment.

“It’s charming,” Sevigny said. She set the kettle on the burner, glanced over her shoulder. He was being nice for the sake of the situation- Remedy had no theme to her apartment. She grabbed whatever to decorate it with because it was her first ever place for herself. It was a clusterfuck of random items; but she at least tried to organize them so she didn’t appear like a hoarder.

“I have ginseng, green, earl, and hibiscus,” she said.

“Earl, please.” She set his cup up and then dumped a scoopful of instant coffee grounds into another mug. There was silence while they waited for the kettle to steam. Sevigny surveyed the various little knickknacks she had, stared down at some of her paperwork on the table, but never touched it. She wondered if he was looking for her bills.

“What happened?” she asked finally. Sevigny smiled small, but it was brief and he scratched the back of his neck, sitting down at her table. She brought him his tea and she sat down at the other end with her coffee. She only held it. In the kitchen light she noticed that his face appeared much better than the last time she saw him; his circles weren’t as prominent, the bags had disappeared. There was still stress, but it didn’t look like he’d been hurling for three days straight.

“There’s a job I have to do and it’s become...complicated.” Sevigny started then looked over at her. His gaze was pleading. “I need you to help me.”

“But I’m done.” It slipped out quicker then she meant, but soft enough for him to hear. Remedy looked away; she was still having nightmares, still adjusting. She wanted to be in Seoul, though a part of her did miss the Victorian home, she made a decision and she was trying to make it work. Inwardly she chastised herself for being finicky. Sevigny kept talking.

“I wouldn’t have come all the way here if it wasn’t important. I’m stuck between a rock and a brick wall. Er...rather…a client from Hell and Slate. I can’t even get a straightforward answer. He keeps hanging up my calls. Ignoring texts. I can’t find him in person. Zeke can’t even get him.” Remedy’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t like Slate to hesitate on a job or avoid one for any reason. He hated a majority of them, but he did them. As mean as he was, he was loyal to Sevigny. He never played phone tag.

“What would make him do that?” she asked. Sevigny looked up at the ceiling, huffed, then over at her.

“Ulysses Klaue.”

Her jaw set tight and she tensed. Instantly she thought of the man backlighted in green and smoke. Sevigny explained he was sort of involved with Ultron and what happened with the trade deal. How Klaue showed up completely out of nowhere ready to get down to business and it was dreadfully apparent there was no getting out of it. Remedy was surprised the man wanted to work with them again after what happened the year prior. She didn’t understand the relationship between Sevigny and Klaue, but figured it went back to Bangkok. She didn’t ask about it.

“I feel like Slate will make the mission difficult if he were to accept it; right now I don’t think he will. With Zeke driving, I’m down to just myself and Min. I need another person.”

“You need me physically present,” Remedy said. She tapped her mug and drank at least half the cup. She didn’t like being on foot when they did a job. The hurriedness of grabbing as much shit as you could and stuffing it in a bag or worse- if it were specific and worth nothing if you broke a speck off the damn thing. She helped with a renowned painting once- ripped the corner of the canvas. That was a pissed off client. That was a never again sort of thing.

“You’ll be right by my side the whole time, beginning to end. Klaue gets his vengeance, we walk with our share, you come back here and-”

“Start over again,” she muttered. There was a problem leaving. She hadn’t been at her job long enough to go away for any reason. She’d have to fake an emergency, make it more convincing than words. According to her files she lived in the city for eight years with no family. There was a box she squared herself in, but now there was this she’d have to figure out.

Or she didn’t have to do any of it. She didn’t have to help Sevigny. Watching him stare into his tea thinking of alternatives in his head made her answer obvious. She had to help him, this was a big deal and it was troubled. She grimaced.

“I need a day or two to settle things with my job.”

“That’s fine...I don’t have to meet him until Saturday anyhow. There are parts in Busan I have to pick up for him.” When he said that she stared. He was running errands for Klaue? He glanced at her and shrugged.

“I told him I’d be in Korea, he considered it two birds with one stone.” They sat for a bit longer, drinking in silence. Remedy offered him her couch and she went to bed, but didn’t sleep.

* * *

 

 

Her agency boss, Miss Si Yan, was not happy. To say her long-distance best friend was dying from a horrible car accident was a stretch, adding it was in another country just stretched it further. It was a very thin line and the only thing that solidified her leave were the tears she mustered up. At least Si Yan had sympathy and believed it was genuine and granted a mourning period for about seven days.

Remedy went through the work day like normal, but in the back of her mind she was trying to prepare for the heist. Sevigny relayed only the details that Klaue had given him, but they were vague. Scenarios played over in her head, a lot of them going wrong- she tried to focus on succession. On coming back and being able to put this behind her. Again.

She picked up a few things on her way back home, pondering everything more than once, her brain stuck like a skipping record and her stomach hurt. She had no appetite, even when it growled she couldn’t eat. Nothing in her fridge appealed to her; she had to clear it anyway. She stuffed food in the freezer and the rest she’d trash on the way out. She packed a suitcase and a backpack. Everything that was financially concerning for the next half month was taken care of. She notified her landlord via email she would be gone; she had absolutely no people of interest that would enter her apartment while out. Her fish would die. That was it.

Remedy grabbed her old work phone off the table after organizing her mail. It was still nighttime, the clock ticking into the early morning. She was ready to go and Sevigny waited for her on the ground. There was still time to kill before picking up Klaue’s parts, but the train ride to Busan would take a while. They boarded and rode the train in silence, Remedy nodding off against the window, never dreaming. Sevigny checked his phone every so often, otherwise he simply watched the night view outside.

Remedy had questions, but she figured Min and them did too. She didn’t want to ask, not now anyhow. It wasn’t a good idea to talk about these things in public, at least that’s what she thought. She was unnerved as it was, popping out of her crime life at a complicated moment only for the same guy to be the reason she had to come back. When they arrived in Busan, Sevigny’s phone dinged with a message with the location to meet.

“Research facility,” he said. He mumbled under his breath as the directions popped up on his map app, then he closed out of it immediately. “I know where it’s at.”

They walked along the night crowd, Remedy pulling her rolling case behind her, backpack over her shoulder. She wouldn’t let Sevigny take it, yet the further they traveled in the night, walking along the sidewalk, she reluctantly let him have it.

“I’ll swerve us in a bit,” he muttered, looking around at the crowded junction. Years ago he lived in Busan, a bit before she met him back in America, and then a little bit longer after. Nothing was familiar to her, but for him to have been away for so long and still know his way around in a bustling, growing city brought out envy. He was good with directions, she wasn’t.

The research facility unfortunately was in a more crowded part of Busan. Security was their biggest deal, but the contact promised to have it all covered. When they got close enough in proximity, out of all the lights and advertising, they managed to square away under a tree close to a building. Remedy held her case by its handle and took a deep breath. She hated swerving, no matter how convenient.

“How long since we’ve done this?” Sevigny asked with a smile after placing his arm around her shoulders, her face to his chest. She looked into his elbow and shut her eyes.

“A year and a half,” she mumbled. He patted her, told her to take another breath, and then in an instant her entire body tingled as if every circulatory vein had been cut off. She heard a mash of voices, saw colors change and morph together like water, felt the air shove her about like a flimsy stick. It was like passing out. As soon as he materialized them, everything went back to working. She inhaled loud and pushed herself away, holding a hand to her eyes. Her vision was blurry and her head was light.

“Are you alright?” Sevigny asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t answer, just nodded. Soon her vision came back and the tingling left. They were in a business courtyard, lights cut and empty. There were sliding doors that Sevigny approached and tapped on. His contact appeared instantly, using a handheld device to open and close the doors for them to enter. It was a large, clean facility. Professional, with modern art present but sparse. They could see far up to other floors with the window panes looking out into the lobby they were in. A ways off they could still hear the city.

“Your plus one?” the contact asked, gesturing to her. Remedy judged by his sleek pants, dress shirt and tie he was an employee here. He looked young, but his eyes were sunk behind a pair of perfect round glasses. His hair was short, jet black, combed sleek and parted on the right. Sevigny nodded in response, then handed back her pack.

“I’ll be just a moment. You can wait here okay?” Sevigny smiled small.

“Oh, he said both come see,” the young man said. Sevigny paused, quirked a brow and looked down at him.

“ _He_?” Sevigny asked.

“Your partner- yes? He show early. Excited.” He made the jazz hands gesture to emphasize. Remedy did a double take around the lobby then looked up, trying to find other people who might be watching them. She could tell Sevigny was caught off guard and it went both ways- she did not want to meet Klaue again so soon. But the contact was insistent they both come, that he already mentioned their arrival. He was dialling on the device again as he walked away, but Remedy didn’t move fast enough. She was nervous. Sevigny gently grabbed hold of her elbow to keep pace with him.

“I’m here this time,” he whispered. They went into a different elevator. She was having deja vu. Instead of going up, though, they went down. She stared at their reflection in the metallic doors, trying to prepare herself so son. Sevigny still had her arm, but she could tell he was tense too. They went down into the basement of the building to the foundation constructs. It was wide, empty and spacious; but everything echoed off the walls and floor. The first thing Remedy heard when the doors opened was laughter. Sevigny gave a light squeeze to her arm before letting her go. The employee kept her bag and suitcase by the elevator; she felt unarmed without them. A ways down they saw a group of people; her stomach had knots again, but when Sevigny walked towards them she did too. She calmed her expression, trying to keep her head up and eyes ahead; but as soon as she saw him she wanted to swift heel turn back and leave. She should’ve said no to this.

“Klaue,” Sevigny spoke aloud and with a smile, gesturing his hands out to everyone there. When the dealer turned Remedy didn’t expect him to appear a little older. She could’ve sworn his hair had been darker. Also, she knew his arm was missing, but still couldn’t help but notice. Her eyes quickly traveled up his left shoulder and then to his face; he was staring at her.

“I can’t pick things up if you don’t give me time,” Sevigny continued to talk with his smile. Everyone around them varied between Klaue’s men and employees at the facility. They had things set up on a table, small mechanical pieces she didn’t know. A couple blinked, some lit up completely. It was like they were building a small robot. The men were talking among themselves, nodding to Sevigny. It’s what she noticed out of her peripheral, because for some reason Klaue just kept looking at her and she grew uneasy Then he grinned and turned to Sevigny.

“Sorry frog, should’ve told you,” Klaue spoke. “What I ordered in Germany arrived early with some…persuasion.” He nodded his head from side to side and chuckled. “I didn’t want to wait any longer, so I came straight here with everything.” He glanced at her again and turned his back to them, pointing straight down to the other end of the building.

“And it’s A GREAT! PLACE! TO TEST!”

Remedy looked over her shoulder back at the young man by the elevator. He dabbed his forehead with a cloth and looked up as if praying. She got the vibe that no, it was not a great place.

“And I am _so_ glad you’re here to see the first go, Beau.” Klaue slapped Sevigny once on the shoulder with his right hand, smiling. “It’s an important step that I’ve been working on- I can do a lot more with this piece completed. Course it’s still an early prototype, but now it hAS A BANG TO IT!” He shouted and the walls rebounded his voice. One of the employees closed a plate on a fake arm. It started blinking blue along the forearm and wrist. Klaue’s men were excited too; the employees were the only ones who seemed to be nervous. She was too, but she was a little curious about the arm.

“And dis is the retiree?” Before she could do anything Klaue took up one of her hands in a gentle fashion and kissed the back of it, staring down at her with a secret intensity she didn’t receive in the nightclub. He was murderous then, annoyed and serious. There was still a threat in his gaze now, but playful. He was mocking her. ‘ _Ey, I almost killed you last year, but here we are._ His eyes glistened, no doubt knowing she was uncomfortable.

“Didn’t mean ta scare you off, dolly- hopefully you stick around a lil longer,” he spoke in his familiar low tone. Remedy felt her face pale a little, she tried not to gulp and had to look away. He laughed at her, then dropped her hand. Sevigny’s smile was gone, eyes scrutinizing. Klaue walked over to the man holding the fake arm and uncovered his left stump. It revealed a metal port plated over the end. Like the fake arm it was blinking blue, but more rapidly. Despite his comments, curiosity grew in Remedy and she moved closer to watch the top of the prosthetic magnetically click to the port. With a twist it stayed firm in place against Klaue’s tugging. The blinking stopped and after Klaue rolled his sleeve back over the connection point, it appeared normal.

And then there was his face; Remedy saw a genuine happiness as he controlled the wrist and fingers, closing one and then all in succession. She heard a car door shut and looked up to see a truck parked all the way at the other end, the driver running away in another direction. Klaue took center in his group, everyone stepping back as his arm opened up to reveal a canon. It hummed low. Remedy tilted her head a little, stepping passed Sevigny and to the side to see it better. She’d never seen technology like this up close. Blue energy whirled and connected at the end of the canon and in one loud screech, it burst a wide and bright light that traveled as a wave down the constructs. When it hit the truck the vehicle flew into the air, glass shattering, pieces breaking as it rolled and rolled until finally hitting support beams that thundered through the basement and shook the floor. It was Sevigny that grabbed her elbow and tugged her back from watching.

Ulysses threw his head back and hollered words she didn’t understand, but he was smiling and laughing and giddy like a child. His men were nodding their heads and everyone was clapping, some out of excitement and others for the love of god it worked. She almost wanted to- Remedy only saw things like that in the news or movies. As scared as she was, she couldn’t lie about not being impressed. Especially if it something so damaging came out of a limb.

“Get another car, just for da hell of it!” Klaue shouted, waving his hand at the driver hiding behind one of the pillars. The man staggered out with his hands over his ears.

“Nevermind, he’s broken. Someone else go get it.” People walked off as Klaue came back up and undid his arm, giving Sevigny a pleased look as he did so.

“Is that powered by what I think it is?” Sevigny asked. When he spoke he was serious, eyeing the weapon as the facility mechanic popped up the fake skin and looking into the plates. Klaue’s port started rapidly blinking again. He pressed a button to turn it off, then snorted and raised his brows.

“No, I wouldn’t be testing under a building if I had enough of my vibranium.” He clenched his teeth. “Nah, this is an old tool I picked up years ago. Just modified it for personal use.” He looked over at the arm and down at the parts. He pointed at various spots for the mechanic to prod. Remedy lifted her head a little to try and see; she didn’t know why, but she wanted to know how it worked.

“Is it pure energy you’re using?” she asked. Whatever was going on in the arm seemed acceptable. The mechanic closed it all up again and took off his magnifying glasses. Klaue was happy and too eager to put it back on.

“Sound, actually,” he replied. Remedy quirked a brow. How do you use sound to the point of seeing it blast out like that?

“How?” she asked, staring at it. Sevigny cleared his throat, moving only a little so that he was still in front of Remedy. He caught Klaue’s gaze, but the dealer didn’t care. Only grin and walk over to show off even more.

“Loaded question,” he said.

“I’m sure the answer will take forever. So-” Sevigny cut short by checking his phone for the time, an action he overdid on purpose to get them off the subject.

“I’m going to assume my time in Korea is up. I need to get Remedy back to England to regroup with everyone on the plan and we still need to secure the vehicles. Zeke’s stamped out a couple good ones so far, might as well hijack them as soon as possible.” Sevigny looked over at Remedy. She got the hint he wanted to leave and nodded.

“You’re sticking her back in that dusty ass house?” Klaue asked. Sevigny was offended and held up a finger about to retort but Klaue waved him off. “It’s further out if you go back home; and I’ll need you closer to London. I’ve one more stop ta make- the two of you can come back with me.”

“That’s-that’s generous, oddly,” Sevigny stammered. Klaue made a face.

“But I’ve arranged our flight back already,” Sevigny replied shaking his head. Remedy whipped her head at him and furrowed her brows. Had he expected her to help him before he even landed on her balcony? She bit her cheek again, but refrained from asking. Watching these two exchange words was cringeworthy, because Klaue one clearly more authoritative. She was starting to understand how hard it was to tell the guy no. He  only shrugged and made a noise.

“I’ll reimburse da tickets, then. My jet’s faster- just bought it. It’s beautiful. You’ll like it frog. Ever been on a Dassault?” He asked Remedy, catching her off guard. She just shook her head no. Klaue grinned at them both and looked over at a dark haired man.

“Limbani, we’re adding two for the flight back.” Sevigny protested again, but Klaue shushed him by waving his good hand and a series of repeated no’s. It was settled, unlike her nerves.

* * *

 

 

It was dark while they walked across the junked airfield. Klaue and his men were far ahead of them, leaving Remedy and Sevigny alone in the back. She roughly pulled along her suitcase and held firm to her backpack, refusing to let anyone hold it for her. Even her boss.

“Did you set a flight before or after I agreed to help you?” she asked, trying not to be bitter. She agreed because she felt bad for Sevigny and even though she still had issues with him from the past she was worried about him. His health was one thing, Slate was another, and this new job on top of that. Sevigny closed his eyes while rolling them and sighed heavy. He didn’t answer right away, which told her what it was anyhow.

“Before.”

“Oh,” was all she said. She walked further ahead of him.

“Remmy, don’t be curt right now. I need you to abide with me more than anything, until we get to London.” He caught up with her in a few strides. “We’re outnumbered. Please stay close to me, and stop asking questions about his arm. Don’t engage him, please.”

“I should have said no,” she whispered. “I thought about it. I really did and I should have said it.”

He grabbed her hand gently and made her look at him.

“I’m glad you didn’t, because I do need you,” he said. His eyes were worried again. She pondered if she should even be upset, then let it go, slumping her shoulders.

She watched as a large tarp was taken off of the jet, lights turning on and engine rumbling to life. Remedy didn’t want to be awake the entire flight and once they were on board and seated she took a few sleeping pills. Sevigny was the only one who saw. It was way too nice of a jet, the kind of nice you felt you dirtied just by breathing. Limbani and another man were in the cockpit, a few other guys sat down across from them in other chairs. She instantly recognized Dave. He stared her down, but said nothing. Klaue seemed to bounce everywhere and refused to stay in one place, overly joyed at his working arm.

“ **BEAUTIFUL NIGHT**! LET’S GO!” he shouted, standing in cockpit’s door frame. He dropped his volume a little. “I want to be the first person in England to watch the sun rise.”

“Yes sir,” the two pilots replied.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--11/26/2019--  
> Small edits have been made to coincide with Klaue's personality a little better.

The port finally came together to fuse with his skin so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it becoming loose on his stub and moving weird. It took many 3D printed models, configuration for the tech inside the damn thing, and easing out the metal and mesh so that it didn’t irritate his still sensitive nerves. The arm was piecing together like he wanted, it was just taking too long. For him it was anyhow, when really all of this was happening in a matter of days.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this busy designing something for his own personal use. It was his own damn arm, so of course he poured a lot of time and research into it, but the excitement he felt was both a relief and a curse. His happiness was mania and just because he was smiling and in a good mood didn’t mean he wouldn’t shoot people. He was too busy to care about basic things and Limbani had to keep reminding him to eat or sleep. Ulysses read constantly from old and new technological research papers and thick program books while simultaneously adding and removing ideas from what he wanted his arm to be. Everything had to work with the Wakandan mining tool, that was the basis of it, and because the rest of the world was ignorant and blind to the actual advanced truth of the hidden country, he had to recollect from memory and old private texts he kept locked up on his property in Germany.

Going back and forth across northern Europe was tiring his men out, he kept pushing through it and when needed, crunched his pills to dull the sensations in his stubbed arm. He wasn’t stretching as much as he should’ve; he was often sitting or pacing or bent over papers or on a computer, or on his phone trying to correlate between translators in Korea, Japan, or China about parts. Yasheen sent reports in emails or small texts about his workers in Africa. The scrapping hadn’t completely stopped, but it was nothing like it was earlier in the year. Ulysses contemplated retiring it now that his bank accounts were full, but work was what made the man.

He had to take care of Junior first. The man had it coming more than anyone right now.

It’d been a couple of days since Ulysses dropped in on old Sevigny. There had still been no update about the team coming together to help and Ulysses was growing impatient. Of course he had to admit to himself, their last couple of meetings were tense and miscorrelated in priorities. He remembered the mutant once being pretty driven about getting as much money as possible, pasionate even. Ever since he’d gotten ill, he was distant to the work.

But he was healed now; that’s where a shit ton of Ulysses’ loan went. Shit got tense for a while, but Sevigny did come through and paid off more than what he was given. He was useful again, but the underlings was what Ulysses wanted figured out.

During his current stay in London, Ulysses and Limbani scoured the city to draw up a plan for the “heist.” It was destruction more than anything; he wanted Junior to hurt.

 

Ulysses checked his phone for the hundredth time, cursing when there was still no message from Beau. He pressed the call button, bringing the phone to his ear while he looked around the busy streets, eyes obscured by large reflective sunglasses. It rang twice before there was an answer; it wasn’t even that, more of a strained sigh and what he presumed was a ‘yes?’ Beau’s accent came through only when he was stressed or tired.

“Are ja sick again, frog?”

“De toi, maybe.”

“Easy,” Ulysses growled into the phone. “I need a simple yes or no about waterboy and the other one.” He paused. Beau paused. They were both a no, apparently.

“I haven’t asked Remedy, yet,” Beau said.

Limbani had walked out towards Ulysses carrying a to-go coffee. He handed it to him, realized his mistake, and decided to hold it for his boss. Ulysses put the phone on his shoulder and took his coffee anyway, looking awkward but not caring. The two men walked back towards a running black SUV.

“With dis day and age? Send her a text if you can’t call, or an email if you can’t text, or a message in a bottle if you can’t type shit. It’s one question, spit it out-”

“I can’t pull her out of her life until your framework plan actually grows skin.”

“It’s done, but I need your people,” Ulysses groaned low and took an odd drink from his coffee. Limbani opened the driver door for him. He set his drink in the holder then hopped into the leather. Limbani shut it and jogged around the front.

“I have more than enough money to compensate anyone’s time, though honestly I don’t give a shit ‘bout her home life. Lookit- dere are some parts I need from Korea anyhow,” he said, recalling that Beau told him she moved there. Personally, he thought it a strange go switch of lives. Trading the dingy Victorian for something like Seoul- that was a shift.

 “But I can’t pick ‘em up ‘till dis one douche gets back to me.” Ulysses was situating a yellow notepad with unlegible scribbling on it. There were dates and prices everywhere.

“He’s taking for fucking ever for just a couple simple parts; anyway, go do that for me and ask jour girl on a lunch break or whatever.”

He didn’t give Beau time to respond and hung up, shoving the phone into his shirt pocket.

“Why is he lollying?” Limbani asked after he shifted into drive and pulled out into traffic.

“He’s too attached to his lackeys,” Ulysses said and drank his coffee. “At least to die one lady, anyway.” He tried to recall her again, but it’d been a while since he last saw her. Still all he remembered was her hair and maybe her voice. When Beau said she had moved all the way to Korea,

“Dave said he almost killed her,” Limbani said. Ulysses eyed him from the side and Limbani glanced at him while trying to pay attention to traffic. He pointed at his right cheek.

“The  bullet grazed her face. Said it wasn’t too bad, but it any further over, we would’ve been burning her body that night too.” Ulysses stared ahead. Beau never mentioned she got hurt, not that Ulysses cared whether she did or not. It would explain the hesitation though. He’d known Beau for years, never heard of all these people, and now that they were out in the open, for some reason, Beau was rather protective of Remedy.

“Maybe she’s his love child or something,” Limbani muttered after a bit and shrugged.

“Maybe,” Ulysses said. “Can’t remember the dame’s face.” Absentmindedly he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled picture of his past lover. Ultron and the Avengers destroyed the other pictures left of her on the ship. This one managed to survive his sweat soaked shirt that day, but the edges were worn and there was a speck of blood on her face. He heaved a sigh at the poor condition it was in; he missed her, but in the back of his head he knew it’d been too long.

Limbani noticed the personal moment, but said nothing.

Ulysses’ phone started ringing and when he checked the number he huffed. It was the part seller from Germany that he’d been waiting on. He sounded apprehensive on the phone, Ulysses recognized it as stalling and took it to mean the parts weren’t properly made yet. No. That wasn’t going to cut it. He needed those parts yesterday. He needed his arm tested now. It was almost done. Forget the waiting. He was going to pay another visit and his words were cruelly promising.

  
  


Yelling, pain, pills, flying. Jet lag was everywhere, but had yet to drag the man down into a sleep longer than four hours at a time. Limbani felt it, so while he slept on the plane despite being the only other pilot Ulysses trusted, their temp hire sat up front with a bewildered Dave who was not used to sitting in the cockpit. The fear of heights glistened in his large eyeballs. He was terrified, though he wouldn’t admit it. Even with Ulysses’ mocking. He didn’t know why he chose to fly to Korea right after Germany. It was a long ass flight. His men were tired, he was tired, but he could not sleep. Everytime he did, he never dreamt, or his arm woke him up, or his mind just kept reeling everything back around Ultron. He focused on his prosthetic, his excitement driving him awake to see it through. It was almost done, he just needed touch ups, a few last pieces, and a couple of tests. He didn’t tell Beau he’d be in the country, even though he might reach it before the mutant did. The flying was taking a big effect on his men. Ulysses was handling it, but everytime he looked over at Limbani it reminded him he needed to slow down just a bit. Just for one night. That was it.

After one stop, they landed the next day in the junkyard much to the temp pilot’s confusion. Ulysses offed him and instructed his men to have at it until tomorrow night, when they’d meet his contact and engineers to test his arm.

As soon as they hit the suite in the city, Limbani claimed a room and never left. The other men jumbled together trying to discern broken Korean to Dutch or English, finally decided on a tour guide to translate everything, then left to enjoy what the nightlife had to offer. Ulysses tried to rest again, but he couldn’t. He ran over the designs for his arm. He got too excited, but couldn’t speed the hours up. He stalked Junior again, he brought back the framework for his attack in London, trying out different positions for his men to take- though there wasn’t much to work with. On the crumpled yellow notepad he had names written down to positions, who were runners, who were drivers, who was the fallman.

Beau’s team was half fleshed out. Min, Zeke, and Beau had their jobs. Slate was a question mark, but his name was also heavily crossed out. Remedy was a question mark. Ulysess paused and for some reason, absentmindedly put another one down next to her name. He peered out the glass windows, over the city covered in a red glowing sunset, loud and busy. Somewhere, turned into a normal busybody, the woman he couldn’t remember was around. He dozed off unexpectedly, but this time he dreamt of Die Senuwee. He heard the music, felt it thumping through his bones, sitting in his chair looking across from him. Everything was green and blurry. He saw her outline and bleeding face. It was just a small cut.

“He’ll fix it,” she said. Her voice muffled a little. “He has to fix it.” 

“He did,” Ulysses said. He went to reach out to her face, to wipe the blood off, but he paused. He was holding out his left hand. He woke up trying to move it and was slightly surprised it wasn’t hurting this time.

 

The men didn’t party too hard, but Ulysses walked out of his room that morning to a couple of shy ladies in tight dresses hurrying out of the suite. They ran into room service at the same time, but the service didn’t question anything and dished out breakfast on the large table and left. Ulysses was by himself for a moment, drinking coffee, devouring the sweet breads, and catching up with the news when Limbani sluggishly dragged himself into the room. His black hair was a mess and drool was dried to the corner of his mouth. He sat down hard in a chair, stacked his plate, poured himself some coffee, and slouched down munching on a slice of toast.

“Ja good?” Ulysses asked, smiling at the corner of his mouth.

“Uh huh,” Limbani muttered, nodding his head. He hadn’t slept like that since they left Namibia. The day went by too slow for Ulysses with how impatient he was. While the other men slept he and Limbani tried out the city for a while, visiting the markets and dropping by an old contact who dealt with fresh fish. She was shocked to see him and blushed while she waited for him to plant a kiss on her cheek.

 _“Mister Klaue you always bring good business when you visit,”_ she spoke to him. He understood bits and pieces, but enough to carry the conversation. She did a double-take at his arm and looked at him in shock. He hated that look.

“ _Not all business is good_ ,” he tried to say. He grinned at her reaction and lightly patted her shoulder, saying he was okay and the fucker was dead. Her lounge wasn’t open that early, and though she insisted they could have drinks on the house Ulysses felt it better that he didn’t start that early. She doted on him, that he could come back whenever he wanted and not worry about anything. He and Limbani stretched the day out with other visits before regrouping at Busan. He checked in on Beau, but the old man didn’t reply for some time and when he did, all he said was he was in Korea. Ulysses debated about bringing up Remedy, decided against it, fidgeted, then decided to hell with it anyway.

 

_I figured. Wasn’t what I was asking about._

 

_She gets off at night. It’ll be late when I let you know. Your contact has yet to send a number or address. Who am I waiting on?_

 

Ulysses grit his teeth at the intentional misdirection and change in conversation. Was it really too much to walk into a workplace and ask to speak with someone? Would she had sent him away because of it? Fine. Ulysses decided to wait for later if that’s how personal the Frenchman was going to be.

 

_There is no name. You’ll know when they send you Korean gibberish._

 

He didn’t get a reply and didn’t tell him he was already there, waiting about like an impatient father in the waiting lobby, for his parts to be ready and for him to finally get his arm. But time finally passed. The men were rested, ready to go. The city glowed with life and culture; though the big businesses were mostly done for the day, he showed up surprising the engineers before they could go home from their shift. It would be graveyard hours tonight. He smiled at the nervous tension he created walking into the building and clapped his hands together, excited. When he started throwing orders about in English the small man with round glasses stuttered the translations. Ulysses’ men had brought his prosthetic and a few other setups from the Dassault while their engineer hosts were careful to provide exactly what Ulysses paid them to make. And while he stood down there, watching while they pieced the inside of his fake arm together, his contact stated that Beau was on the way with someone else. Ulysses paused for a second and grinned.

“When they get here send them both down,” His heart was pumping, watching the blue lights blink and whirl rapidly. The canon responded with test prompts, never fully activating but it was glowing. Ulysses let one of the engineers assist him with his port. It remained in place the past two days with hardly a slip. They tested the buttons, the connections, making sure it timed instantly with his arm. There couldn’t be a delay, he’d throw a fit if there was one.

He waited for someone to get the truck when he heard Beau address him. He turned at first to respond, but his eyes hit her too soon. Bundled hair and eyes wide, terrified and trying to hide it. As harsh as the lights were, she had a soft glow about her. Doll. She was a doll. Her features were too gentle, but it was her lips he couldn’t stop looking at. A favorite instantly, his body felt weird, like a tickling that started in his chest and ran through his stomach on down. Her wear was casual in a dark blue sweater over skinny jeans. Her hair was up in the same way he remembered. It should’ve been those lips. Why didn’t he remember those.

He heard Beau talking to him, but it took Ulysses a couple of seconds to respond. Remedy was also staring back at him, her gaze easily read as fear. This was perfect. His arm was done, the frog was here to see it, and where was the fun in showing off if there wasn’t a pretty lady to boast in front of? He grinned at Beau.

 

\---

 

The success of his prosthetic fueled his confidence, exciting him to a height he hadn’t been at in a couple years. Being able to control the fingers was something else entirely and his mood rubbed off on his lackies. The employees relieved. He caught the hesitant gaze in Beau’s eyes after showing how powerful it was. And to his personal delight, the fear faded from Remedy’s eyes and were replaced with curiosity. That was a good start for chit-chat. She wanted to know about it, about him. It gave him an extra boost.

After that and their quick run in Busan for take-out, all he wanted to do was talk to her, but Beau blocked every chance. They didn’t even ride in the same vehicle to the junkyard. On the Dassault he wanted to pour a drink, sit across from her and try and make a different impression. Remedy fell out sometime after take off anyhow, though whether she was really resting was debatable. She twitched and woke a couple times an hour. She wasn’t comfortable on the plane; he couldn’t blame her. It was a long flight with a bunch of people who once tried to kill her.

Another thing was that he had never seen Beau carry such warning in his eyes- but Ulysses wasn’t one to back off something, or someone, just because of overprotective daddy glares. While he and a couple of the men played cards, he stole glances at her sleeping face resting against Beau’s shoulder. It went on like that for a while until only Ulysses, Beau, and the other two pilots were awake.

“Here,” Ulysses whispered and set down a half full whiskey glass on the small table beside the Frenchman. He’d noticed the man loved to drink; it was easy to pour it into him. Ulysses sipped his own glass and sat a small distance away, crossing one leg over at the knee. He was going to end up pissing the man off before the plane landed that morning. On purpose. With the roundabout phone calls he and Beau had about this whole team building thing, it was more than warranted, Ulysses felt. Beau saw the prosthetic’s power, he had little room to work with concerning anything now. Ulysses was in control, on top of things, but it didn’t stop Beau from being on guard.

Beau didn’t touch his drink.

“What is she to you?” Ulysses motioned his glass to Remedy without his eyes leaving Beau’s face. The older man huffed, aggravated. He didn’t want to talk about this, he didn’t want to explain whatever it was he was hiding. Ulysses figured adding anything else might get him started.

“And why Korea of all places?” he scrunched his face. “Popular choice for studyin’ abroad for _students_ , but immigrating?”

“You don’t have to understand it,” Beau replied while staring at the whiskey. He was picking his words first before talking. Remmy probably couldn’t be in the vicinity for the man to just drink himself silly and spill everything.

“She’s lived there before with Slate,” Beau said. Ulysses’ nose crinkled. Goddamit- he’d assumed Slate and Remedy were really bad partners. He did not want to hear that there was more history to the two of them. His stomach felt weird, his chest felt a little tight. He didn’t realize he clenched his fingers around his drink.

Beau paused. Finally, he took a small sip of the whiskey and stared right at Ulysses.

“Don’t touch her.”

Ulysses snorted into his drink, raising his brows and sat up. There it was. There was the bar from the frog, the threat- the invitation.

“Now, now, Beau...we’re on die same side again, ja? I won’t hurt a hair on her badly mussed head.” He chuckled and glanced at her. Beau curled his fingers around his glass and dust began to part off him, slowly swirling about as it flaked off his skin. He glared at Ulysses with his glassy eyed look, the look he gave over and over to prove that was strong enough to stand against the armsman, even though in the end, he ended up doing what Ulysses said anyway. This time, he was really trying, he was genuinely angry and protective and trying to lay out rules.

“A job is a job,” Beau said. “And yet I saw the look. I saw your eyes. I’ll let you know now- Remedy can’t stand you, Klaue,” he whispered harshly and leant forward. Ulysses grit his teeth.

“She won’t get used to you. Nothing about you is good and she is too determined to leave crime life- she goes home after this.”

“Or what, you’ll kill me? Is that where you’re heading with this?” Ulysses grinned like an asshole and drank from his glass. He didn’t like being told he couldn’t do things, couldn’t talk to people, especially when in this point in time he’d personally employed Beau. Giving him and his lackeys work. Giving him money.

“We both know how hard that would be,” Beau confessed. “But, you already have a woman; don’t insult her memory.”

Ulysses knew who he was talking about. He looked past Beau to the cockpit. He could see the sunrise, but he couldn’t feel the prospect of a new day that it usually brought. In Africa watching the sunrise was always a norm and yet it was always beautiful. Ulysses almost reached for the picture. Shit, Beau got a hit, he didn’t have weight to pull out heartbreak. There was no room for his small ass feet to tread on that subject, but when he looked down at Remedy there was a twinge of guilt for feeling attracted to her and it nearly stopped him in his tracks.

Just nearly.

“Fine,” Ulysses muttered low and looked Beau in the eye. “But don’t you ever bring that back up again or I will smash a gotdamn, gaping hole through the back of your head.” The Frenchman smiled.

“I won’t screw with your heart if you don’t screw with mine,” he warned. Remedy kept sleeping. The tingling in Ulysses’ chest didn’t go away and he was more frustrated than earlier. His mood was dying. Beau didn’t want him to have anything to do with her, using guilt trips and heartbreak to try to deter him.

Beau was also a bit right- a job was a job. He needed to finish his deal with the Churchill. Then after that, who knows. He couldn’t help that he was attracted to her, even if he wanted to. Beau’s words replayed in his head; if she wanted to go home then fine, she could go home. Klaue had a fucking plane and he’d buy more if he wanted to.

His mind was made up; he lied straight to the old man’s face. For now he’d back off, but there were still possibilities in the future.

“Back to business, then,” Ulysses said darkly. He looked away from Beau, stood and walked towards his computer at the back. He opened and closed his prosthetic’s fingers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a reader, I understand how frustrating it can be to wait a while for an update to a story. I’m sorry I’m not as fast as this right now compared to the very start. I could go on about what’s up with my home life and work, but in the end it doesn’t change anything about me not updating consistently. I want the few of you to know though, that I haven’t forgotten about you or this story. When it flows it flows, and then I’m an edit freak so- time is an enemy, literally.
> 
> I do appreciate the comments, I really don’t care how short they are. It doesn’t have to be anything lengthy. It could be an emoji for all I care. Those really, really make my day seeing those.
> 
> I know I’ve been really heavy on the original characters, I’m still trying to build up to where it’s just Klaue and Remmy and then dragging in the other baddies. I didn’t want to rush it. I’m really trying to stay in the timeline.
> 
> These next couple of chapters are short, it depends on the PoV and I work with taking turns for it. Remmy-Klaue-Sevy-repeat.

For the longest time, Beau Sevigny never had issues with doing his job. As a young man he studied art in university. He frequented museums, galleries, exhibitions, auctions, mostly to gaze and study. As he got older, he learned the audience for it; who wanted what and how badly they’d pay for it. The lengths people would go to just to have a piece all to themselves. He knew how to be sly, how to be quiet, undetectable, and always careful with value.

Heisting came later, and it brought it in a lot to sustain his way of life. He liked fine things, not too over-glamorous and showy, just enough to reflect his personality.

Sometimes when the markets dipped, the pieces he ended up with became rejected or he was low-balled a price. He started keeping them and the collection grew. He got older. He met people. He fell in love. His heart grew bigger and he took in troubled people- troubled kids. He became less concerned with what items surrounded him. More concerned with teaching new prospects who had high potential. With protecting them, providing for a family he realized he didn’t want to lose, but didn’t want to smother.

He lost some people.

Then he got ill.

When the Dassault landed by the next night, he rushed Remedy out before Ulysses had time to fully wake up from his groggy sleep. Without so much as a care or word to the other men who could have easily overran the two on that flight, he hauled Remedy’s belongings in one arm and walked briskly, keeping hold on her elbow with the other.

“Sevigny,” she muttered. “What the hell?”

“Deep breath,” he replied. She did and he swerved into the night. It was a ridculously long flight from Korea to England, with a stop for fuel in between because it was a tiny jet. Klaue could not make time move faster than what it was, and when the man wasn’t trying to sleep he was working on his computer, speaking his dialect with his team, or just sitting there fascinated with his new limb.

Unlike Remedy, who saw nothing but blurred colors during the swerve, Beau’s was perfect down to the speck. He controlled direction with a simple tilt to either side. It was hard to explain to others, when their bodies felt cut off, he became overly sensitive. The speed depended on desire and will alone, and he moved as fast as he could through the night air to put as much distance between them and Ulysses. He could still breathe in his different form, though, and didn’t want to knock out Remmy.

They materialized in a secluded park in the dark where no one could see them and she faltered against him, gasping.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized and held onto her.

“What...the hell,” she asked again. She was pinching her forehead and scrunching her face.

“Difficult flight,” he said. He couldn’t tell her about the conversation on the plane. After Remedy regained her clarity, they got a cab ride into the southern half of London, down streets they hadn’t been to in a while. It’d been maybe nine years since he and his team were in the actual city of London. While Remedy was the safest of the group, the rest had to watch their faces.

They got out at an old, but maintained autobody shop with faded paint and three garages, one of which was opening just as they pulled up. Zeke was on the other side pulling the chain, dressed in a dirtied white tee and sweatpants. He must’ve just woken up, but his eyes widened and he smiled once he saw Remedy. Zeke called out to Min that they were there. There was a high-pitched, overly long squeal as she came running out of the breakroom, black hair pulled up high, dark eyes shining, and wearing one of her decorated face masks. One arm was held out to Remedy, the other held-

“Is that a pig?” Remedy asked as Min barreled into her, squeezing the animal between the two of them. It snorted in discomfort and looked up at Remedy with a twitching snout. She stared at it quizzically, and then the gushing began.

“Oh my GOD he’s so fucking cute.”

“ISN’T HE?”

“LOOK AT HIS LIL HOOFIES.”

“HE LETS YOU PAINT THEM.”

“WELL TONIGHT WE’RE DOING GLOW IN THE DARK LIME GREEN YOU LITTLE SHIT.”

It wiggled it’s tail at being cooed over so agressively. Sevigny and Zeke shared a look. The girls walked back to the breakroom, occupied. The morning air was crisp, a couple cars honked in the distance. Beau put his hand on the white van next to him. Its paint was peeling and a good majority of it was already being buffered. His fingers tapped on the metal and Zeke looked at him, crossing his arms.

“I thought I’d be picking the two of you up from the airport earlier, but there was a no show.”

“Yeah…” Beau cleared his throat and looked at Zeke. “We happened to...run into Klaue, back in Korea, while trying to pick up his parts.” There was a strained silence and Zeke looked at him critically.

“I thought the guy said he was staying in Germany until tomorrow.”

“He’s not exactly in his right mind; with him you have to expect the unexpected and still end up surprised.” Beau looked over Zeke’s shoulder to find three dirt bikes. All looked worn; one was pulled apart with tools underneath it. There were several brand new tires stacked nearby along with some parts. Zeke was getting everything ready even though they had yet to hear exactly what was going on.

“We’re walking away from this, right?” Zeke whispered. “Because I got plans after this, serious plans.” He glanced twice to the back of the building where they heard the girls laugh briefly. Beau nodded his head heavily.

“Yes, yes we are walking away. I’ll make sure that part happens.” He wasn’t sure right now, he jsut wanted to get through the “heist,” because it wasn’t really a heist, just a long way of going about fucking someone over.

His phone was vibrating in his back pocket and he dreaded opening it, thinking it was the devil they spoke of. He left it alone.

“Have you heard from Slate?” he asked Zeke as the young man turned to the tool desk against a wall. He shook his head, searching through the different types of wrenches. Before Beau could ask another question, Remedy peered from the back and called to him.

“I’m making tea,” she said. The sunrise hit London, it lit up the street and bounced off old road signs hung up on the walls. The phone stopped ringing. There was no voicemail. A heaviness hit his shoulders and neck and as cramped as he’d been sitting in the same seat for over ten hours, he wanted to sit back down.


	8. Chapter 8

Her and Min had not caught up in such a while that it took a majority of the day for them to do so. While Zeke worked on the vehicles and Sevigny dealt with whatever he was dealing with, the girls designated the loft upstairs as theirs. There were a couple of couches, one in better shape than the other, an armchair, a blow up full mattress with sheets and Min’s clothes, and a card table. It was where Stevie, the little teacup pig, sat and snorted as the girls coated his hooves in polish.

They just finished laughing over a story Min shared when Remedy noticed her sudden uneasiness.

“You didn’t want to come back, did you?” Min asked. Remedy sighed as she twisted the cap back onto the paint and leaned back in the wobbly chair. Her hair was down over her shoulders, drying from the shower. She wore her sweatpants and a baggy dark shirt as if ready for bed again. Min had been her best friend for a long time, in a way that she helped with Remedy’s language barriers, going out for drinks, and simply being girly. Some emotions skipped over them, which was different compared to most friendships normal women had- emotions were everything. Min got attached pretty easily, but then detach just as quickly, and took things real personally. Remedy wasn’t too different. She recognized leaving the team for what she wanted was selfish, but the loss of a child so long ago fueled her decision to try and be a mom again. It’s hard to explain that grief to someone who never went through it.

Min wanted things to stay as they were, never changing. Remedy needed change.

“Personally, it feels like a huge step backwards,” she said. “But- it’s hard for me to let Sevy down...given the circumstances.” She looked over at her silent friend who was obviously sad, but nodded in agreement anyway.

“You can come visit, you know. My door is always open to you.”

A vehicle squealed to a stop in the street outside the body shop, followed by another doing the same. They heard loud music with a dropped base and multiple car doors shutting. When they heard men’s loud laughter they knew Klaue had arrived with his entourage. Min stiffened, Stevie snorted and tried to scamper off the table. Her and Remmy faltered to make sure he didn’t fall off and break something. Once he was on the floor he hurdled under the armchair and stayed.

“How bad was the flight?” Min whispered when they stood up to head downstairs, but neither girl moved. They could hear happy commotion echoing up to them. Hesitantly, they walked to the stairs and leaned over the rails, seeing shadows move about. Between Klaue and Beau talking, Zeke was telling guys not mess with his stuff, but they were setting things up. Whatever it was. Klaue was giving orders to put shit over there or in the corner.

“You would have to ask Sevigny,” Remedy whispered. They continued to listen.

 

“We could have set things up if you’d let me know. Once again,” Sevigny said.

“Ooh, don’t gimme dat; I called you earlier. Never picked up. After your wordless departure I figured a wordless arrival was appropriate anyway,” Klaue laughed.

“Oh? So what happened in Korea then, when you said you’d be in Germany?” There was a pause and what sounded like a giggle from Klaue.

“Fair enough, frog. Look, you wanted de plans? Plans are done. Everyone is here now, ja?” He slapped Sevigny on the shoulder rather hard.

Remedy and Min looked at each other.

 

The garage doors were shut, their windows covered in foil to make it pitch dark. Klaue was using green holograms that emitted from a laptop along with an oddly lit blackboard that at first, struck her and her teammates as odd, until Klaue wrote on it. The words popped, glowing rainbow. It was a giant ass light bright board.

A couple of Klaue’s men chose to sit in the fold up chairs. Zeke found one for Min and stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. Remedy stood up instead, crossing her arms overself. Sevigny stood close beside her. Klaue clapped his hands together and rubbed them, grinning. Remedy couldn’t help but wonder how something so simple gave him joy now that he had a left arm again.

“Finally,” Klaue said, looking over everybody. Remedy couldn’t look him in the eye though, when he scanned over, and instead just watched his arm. The blue light trimming was so thin in the dark, it was almost annoying. It felt as if his eyes lingered on her, like they did back in Korea just...a couple nights ago? Was it? Her days were mixing. She should start wearing a watch again.

Klaue dove right into it. Sections in London popped up on a map, and it was a wide area to cover. He had confidence. Each jewelry store was random, never the same company except for one retailer which Remedy learned belonged to a man named Bradley, who Klaue quite literally spat out as Junior. Police stations, traffic lights, alleyways, and Klaue’s directional switch ups between truck and van, van to car, motorbike or running, he pointed individually to in the garage or gestured to the vehicles outside. His men had to gun the gas pedal after shooting; Remedy became nervous. There'd be casualties.

She hated field work.

The last store he brought up was Bradley’s chain again; the oldest, it had more value. This one, the _only_ one, he wanted robbed. Then once robbed and transferred to the heavy bank truck, he wanted it set on fire and blown. Slowly, Remedy looked over and up at Sevigny. His jaw was tight.

Assuming the police would be too busy and too spread out to focus on their team, they’d switch over to another vehicle and drive the merchandise over Tower Bridge. From there, follow directions to another location Klaue had set up.

“What’s the location,” Sevigny asked suddenly. Klaue held his hands out.

“Just another big house I bought,” he grinned.

“No.” It went silent, it got tense. Remedy couldn’t help but widen her eyes and stare at Sevigny, Min and Zeke doing the same.

“I’ve known you long enough. I’ve known when sudden new locations mean you pop people off when you don’t need them anymore,” Sevigny said and Remedy’s stomach dropped. Her heart raced.

“I am _not_ , killing, any of you,” Klaue said and he said it loud, with a smile and as if he had to say this over and over and over again so many times that day.

“We are past that point; you and your lil underlings there,” he gestured with his real hand, special lite brite pen wriggling between the three of them.

“You all go home, back to whatever, with some jewels in a pocket or two.” He shrugged, lips pouted and that was that. He turned back to the board and looked it over. There was touch ups with him and his men about who was teaming with who, what else needed to be done to the vehicles- Zeke being in charge of that, and the small arrival of handhelds which Klaue was taking care of himself. At which, he walked off and let his men take everything back down, foil ripped off, and garage doors opened. Zeke went back to work, Min went to help him if to stay away from those of Klaue’s men who didn’t drive off to practice the routes. Sevigny pinched his nose, gave a solemn pat on Remedy’s shoulder, and walked outside. He needed air.

She herself, not knowing what to do or where to go, mindlessly wanted coffee and walked to the back to start a pot. Remedy stopped in the doorway when she saw Klaue’s back and almost left, had she not been curious to see him try and open the bag of coffee grounds with his robotic arm.

He was trying to be slow with opening the top, but instead it burst open in a loud rip and coffee flew everywhere across the counter, floor, and him.

“Ah fuck shit,” he muttered. She bit her lip trying not to smile, felt horrible about smiling, and forced it away. While turning to look at his mess he stopped and stared at her in the doorway, and immediately grinned.

“Still gettin’ used ta it, huh.” He held out the ripped bag, but in his movement he spilled even more of it on the floor.He flung it on the counter. Remedy knew it was better to turn around and leave him there, but she didn’t. She walked over to him, tiptoeing around the mess, got another bag and opened it. She scooped four cups into the filter, the tank was already filled with water. She pressed the on button. It gurgled.

“Danke, dolly,” Klaue murmured low, not wanting to be heard. She felt him watching her and looked away from him. She didn’t want him to see her flustered, and how bad she felt for feeling flustered. What was wrong with her?

“Sure,” was all she could say before turning to walk off. He grabbed her hand, not roughly but enough to stop her. Remedy tensed up, but still didn’t look at him. So she didn’t see the amusement in his eye and the hesitance on his face when he opened his mouth twice to say something and nothing came out. How odd that was for him.

He let her hand go and turned away, brushing the coffee off his shirt. Remedy paused for a couple of seconds, then hurried out and up the steps to the loft, where she waited by the windows for him, thermal in his good hand, and the rest of his men to leave to practice the routes. Absentmindedly she held her hand, replaying his few words over in her head and hating the way it made her face burn.


End file.
